


A Sword Without Hilt

by argentoswan



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Magical Adventures, Prinxiety - Freeform, Secret Plots, Slow Burn, deceit is there too i guess, logicality - Freeform, roman is a dumbass prince, spells, they're all oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2019-09-01 14:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16766632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentoswan/pseuds/argentoswan
Summary: Prince Roman isn't exactly eager for his kingdom to play host to a bunch of sorcerers, but he'll put up with it for diplomacy's sake. He plans to keep away from them all, but when he and his companions- Patton, the court sorcerer's apprentice, and Logan, the royal librarian- discover a few of their visitors' secrets, they have to choose between keeping the peace and doing what's right.Or, Roman thinks that Virgil is a servant, but there's much more to it than that. Magic AU, Kingdom AU.





	1. Chapter 1

Roman didn’t want to downplay Patton’s intelligence. Patton was one of his most trusted personal advisors, and Roman dearly valued all of the contributions that he made to brainstorming sessions. Patton’s ideas were often as amusing as they were beneficial, and Roman appreciated having someone so vibrantly motivated at his side.

But when his father took one of Patton’s ideas and ran with it, turning it into the diplomatic spectacle of the century, he couldn’t help but be slightly annoyed.

Patton had mentioned offhandedly at dinner one night that it would be beneficial if the kingdom made a concentrated effort to strengthen the relationship between magic users in the realm (his actual phrasing of it was more along the lines of “It would be so fun if we invited other sorcerers to visit!” but it was polished up quite a bit in later iterations).

The king had just _loved_ that idea.

Magic within many kingdoms around them was a touchy subject, but when Roman’s father had assumed the throne, he had pushed his people to embrace magic of all kinds. He had reinstated the position of court sorcerer to his cabinet, a title that his own father had done away with out of fear of subversion, and lifted many of the laws that had forced many magic users to practice in secret out of fear of punishment. Under his rule, peace between those with magic and those without had flourished.

Roman was proud of all the work his father had done. He was excited to continue it one day, but he was a little _less_ excited for the king’s newest addition to Patton’s idea- that their kingdom should host sorcerers of high standing from other kingdoms so that they all might share their research and learn from one another.

It meant that the castle was about to become very populated very soon, and Roman knew that it would make diplomatic procedures _that_ much more tedious.

“Oh, it’ll be fun,” Patton said when Roman voiced his annoyance. He bit his tongue as he raised his hand over the pot of dirt in front of him, narrowing his eyes in focus. “ _Cresceria_ _._ ”

Roman watched as a sprout poked up from the pot, nudging the dirt aside and unfurling within seconds. Moments later a beautiful pink tulip was gleaming in the pot.

“Oh, dear,” Patton said. “It was supposed to be a daffodil.”

“All of the meetings we’ll have to sit through will be dreadfully tiresome,” Roman said. “And I will have no time for my training!”

“Nonsense,” Patton said. “All you’ll have to do is be nice. Besides, this means that you’ll have so many feasts to attend! You love feasts.”

That at least cheered Roman up a bit, and he was able to skew his complaints in a more positive light when he took them to Logan.

“I don’t understand what you’re so upset about,” he said, staring at Roman over the top of the books he was meant to be sorting. “It is going to affect Patton’s distribution of time more than yours.”

“That will be dreadful as well! What if Patton becomes too busy to participate in any of our planned excursions?”

Logan pursed his lips, unimpressed, and checked the bindings of the book he was holding. “I’m of the opinion that you’re just looking for something to complain about,” he said. “If that is the case, I will ask politely that you leave me be so I can get my work done. There will be plenty of time to complain later.”

Roman slunk out of the library with a scowl on his face.

So it was that Roman stood by his father’s side several weeks later dressed in his finest day clothes, hands neatly behind his back as he readied himself to greet the latest company of sorcerers. Three of the surrounding kingdoms had accepted their invitation- Rovirno, Vallaros, and Marbeda- and sent along a handful of their finest magic users. Both Vallaros and Marbeda had arrived days before, leaving just the representatives of Rovirno to arrive that day.

Those necessary for greeting waited on the front steps of the castle. Roman stood squarely next to Patton, who had traded his usual plain attire for pale blue robes woven with the kingdom’s insignia. Beside the king, who cut a striking figure in regal purple, stood the court sorcerer Ibykos, who had tied his long silver hair back into a ponytail that fell neatly to his waist.

The sun was high in the sky overhead, and Roman felt sweat gathering beneath his collar. He reached up and pulled at it, gaze wandering from the path in front of them to the trees of the Taobhan Forest. How he wished he was out there now, practicing his swordsmanship in the shade of the oaks instead of standing here in silence.

“Ah, there they are,” said his father, and Roman dropped his hand to stand straight again. Coming towards them from the distance were horses walking far too leisurely for his taste. He glanced sideways at Patton, hoping that the other boy was thinking the same thing, but Patton just beamed at him, eyes bright behind his glasses.

Of course he was excited. Patton was always excited.

When the procession was close enough, Roman’s father stepped forward, descending the steps. Ibykos followed, long hair gleaming in the sunlight, leaving Roman and Patton to fall into step behind their respective superiors. Roman saw Patton hopping up and down on the balls of his feet with each step, far too energetic to mask his joy.

There were three horses in all, but one took the clear lead. Roman examined the man astride the largest of the horses, gaze dropping to the insignia woven into the breast of his deep red robes- two snakes entwined around a sharpened sword. The royal crest of Rovirno.

Roman’s father opened his arms in greeting as the horses stopped and the man in the lead gracefully dismounted. “Greetings,” he said. “I’m honored to welcome you to Midylos.”

The man stepped forward, picking up his robes carefully so they didn’t drag in the dirt, and tipped his head in a low, respectful bow. “King Frideric,” he said. “I am Achilas, court sorcerer to King Sarus of Rovirno. It is my deepest honor to be in your service.”

He stood, a thin smile on his face. He was a short man, shorter than Roman, with curly dark hair and a beard that made him look deceptively youthful.

“Allow me to introduce Ibykos and his apprentice, Patton,” Roman’s father said.

Ibykos and Achilas bowed deeply to one another. Patton smiled and inclined his head.

“And, of course,” Frideric said, turning to look fondly at Roman, “my son, Prince Roman.”

Roman stepped forward, a proud flurry in his stomach despite himself, and nodded to accept Achilas’s bow.

“And my apprentice,” Achilas said, offering a hand to gesture towards the other man who had dismounted, “Damian.”

Damian’s lips curled up in a smile, head lifting to greet them, and Roman had to resist the urge to gasp. Damian looked much younger than Achilas, probably Roman’s age, and although he was handsome, the left side of his face was puckered with a harsh, red burn scar crossing from his temple all the way down to his jaw. His left eye gleamed in the center of it, pale yellow and cloudy, a sharp contrast to the other brown one.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he said, his voice smooth, and twisted his yellow gloved hands elegantly as he bowed.

“We are looking forward to visiting your lands and learning from the impressive magical minds gathered here,” Achilas said. “Perhaps we might even have a few things to teach you, as well.”

“That is the hope,” Ibykos said, his voice quiet but pleasant.

“You must be exhausted after your travels,” Frideric said. “Please, allow me to show you to your rooms.”

“That would be most appreciated,” Achilas said, bowing deeply once more. Behind him, Damian had dropped back and was speaking quietly to the last member of their party, who was holding all three of the horses’ reins. They both looked up when Achilas said, “Damian.”

“Coming,” Damian said, smile crossing his scarred face once more as he stepped forward, leaving the other boy behind. Roman spared him a quick glance- his plain clothes told him that he was a servant, and by his slim frame and the dark shadows under his eyes he was a rather unhealthy one, at that- before turning away to follow his father and their guests back up the steps of the castle.

Patton bounced forward to walk beside him, elbowing him cheerfully in the side. “Oh, wow,” he said, beaming at him. “Isn’t this going to be fun?”

X X X X X

“I hear that your libraries are the envy of the lands, King Frideric,” said Geleswintha, the representative from Vallaros. Beside her sat her apprentice, a beautiful young woman whose name Roman had learned was Emalia, both dressed in flattering pale yellow robes.

“My family has worked extensively to cultivate our collection,” Roman’s father said, “and Ibykos has done wonderfully to build our repertoire of books on magic.”

Roman carefully sawed off a bite-sized piece of chicken, trying to look politely interested in the conversation his father was fielding between the visiting sorcerers. They were gathered in their largest dining room, and a small feast comprised of all local delicacies had been laid out before them. They were nearly finished with the third course, and Roman was looking forward to the dessert coming soon.

To his right, Patton was deep in conversation with the sorcerer apprentice from Marbeda, Elianor. They were talking spells, laughing about the amusing intricacies of it, and Roman resisted the urge to turn and butt in. He wasn’t altogether interested in the careful diplomacy that his father was courting, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold his own in a conversation about magic. He could hardly follow it when Patton and Logan tried to teach him in the simplest of terms. He much preferred his physical training to the mental one that sorcerers took on.

“Prince Roman,” said the voice to his left, and Roman looked towards Damian. He tried not to stare too hard at the mottled scar tissue. “I must say that I was quite looking forward to meeting you. I have heard great things about your skills in battle.”

Roman smiled indulgently, always ready to accept praise where it was due. “I’m afraid I haven’t been able to test my skills in any real battle,” he said. “My father is excellent enough at keeping the peace that my experience lies mostly on competition grounds.”

“Not a terrible problem to have,” Damian said, raising his wine cup to his lips and taking a sip. When he set it down again, he said, “I actually had the honor of seeing you in battle- two years ago, at the summer solstice celebrations in Marbeda. You dueled in the finals against-”

“Sir Vetranio,” Roman said, remembering with a small grin. It had been one of his first competitions away from home, and the knight had been a very formidable opponent. “A hard won fight.”

“A most expertly won fight,” Damian corrected. “Your parries are flawless, your highness.”

A servant appeared at Roman’s elbow to whisk his plate away. Around him the table was being cleared, the unfinished food swept off back to the kitchens.

“I appreciate your praise,” Roman said as a servant refilled his wine cup from a silver pitcher. “I regret to say that I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting Rovirno yet- how do you like it?”

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” Damian said. “We haven’t the lush forests that Midylos boasts, but the deserts that we border are beautiful in their own ways. To watch the sun rise on that great expanse of land is akin to visiting heaven.”

The servants were bringing dessert now, setting trays of small, intricately decorated cakes and tarts on the table. Beside Roman, Patton clapped in excitement, gushing to Elianor about the jam tarts.

“I hope to see it one day,” Roman said.

“Perhaps after our visit is over, I will implore Achilas to extend an invitation,” Damian said. “Our knights would be honored to wage battle with you, should you desire training whilst there.”

Roman lifted his wine. “That sounds wonderful, Sir Damian,” he said.

“Please, just Damian, if you don’t mind.”

“Damian,” Roman corrected, and they shared a smile as servants quietly placed portions of dessert on their plates.

When the meal was complete and dessert had been cleared, Roman’s father invited the more senior sorcerers to a private chamber for wine and further discussion, leaving the apprentices to bow and file out of the room. Roman caught his father’s eye, wondering which group he was to follow, and to his great relief Frideric nodded towards the door. It was late, and Roman had drunk his fair share of wine, and the idea of climbing into bed was intoxicating.

As he left the dining room, Patton snagged his elbow and said, “Let’s go visit Logan, come on!”

“I’m tired,” Roman complained, but Patton was already pulling him in the opposite direction of his rooms, down the hall towards the Royal Library.

“Just for a little bit,” Patton said. “Oh, wasn’t that dinner the best thing you’ve ever had? I just adore the way that they made the potatoes, I have to stop by the kitchens and give them my compliments. And everyone is so lovely, especially Lady Elianor- she’s so well educated in spells. I can’t wait to work with all of them!”

“Yes,” Roman said, resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to get to bed any time soon. “It was a very nice time.”

“I saw you talking to the apprentice from Rovirno,” Patton said. “Damian, was it?”

“Yes,” Roman said. “He’s an excellent conversationalist.”

“I’m sure,” Patton said as they turned a corner, footsteps echoing on the stone beneath them. He glanced sideways at Roman, lips twisted in a grin. “I didn’t know you had such flawless parries.”

Roman scowled at him, and Patton laughed. “Aw, are you blushing, Ro?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Roman muttered.

The doors to the library were closed at this hour, but Patton waved his hand at the lock and it clicked open. They both fell quiet as they walked in, twisting through the tall shelves of musty books to the back of the room.

“Logan?” Patton called as they approached the empty desk.

He peeked behind the desk as though Logan were crouched underneath it. Roman, even sleepier than he had before, snatched the padded chair that Logan usually used and sat down, tipping his head back with a tired sigh.

“Seriously?” Roman looked up to see Logan emerging from a nearby aisle carrying a stack of heavy looking books, sleeves pushed all the way up to his elbows. He frowned at them from behind his glasses, lips twisted in a frown. “I lock the doors for a reason, you know. Just because you can magic your way through them does not mean that you should.”

“Logan!” Patton’s face lit up with a grin. “Aw, we just finished with dinner and we wanted to come and visit you. Besides-” He shoved his hand into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a wrapped white cloth napkin. He gingerly unfolded it to reveal two perfect pastries Roman had seen on the table at dinner. “I brought you jam tarts!” he said.

Logan’s expression changed. He walked over to drop the books on the desk in front of Roman, making a noise so loud that Roman scowled at him. “That is… very kind of you, Patton.”

Patton handed them over, and Logan carefully wrapped them again and set them on the desk. When he looked up, the annoyance in his face had eased. “How was dinner?” he asked, rolling his white sleeves back down.

“Lovely,” Patton said. “You’re going to love all of the sorcerers. I told them about your impressive collection.”

“They’re hardly mine,” Logan said, and in the dim candlelight Roman could see that his cheeks were tinged with pink. “I care for these books on behalf of the kingdom.”

“Please, Logan,” Roman said, reaching out to pick up one of the books from a stack. He flipped to the first page, but it was written in Greek, which Roman didn’t know quite enough of to read. “Don’t discount the care you put into your children. Motherhood is very hard, indeed.”

“Yes,” Logan said, “especially when other children always _manhandle_ them.” He reached out and took the book from Roman, closing it carefully and setting it back on the table. “Do be careful, these are hundreds of years old.”

“You should have seen the robes that the sorcerers from Vallaros were wearing,” Patton said. “Such a pretty shade of yellow.”

“An odd choice for a diplomatic feast,” Roman said, “but definitely eye catching.”

Roman knew what was coming from the mischievous grin on Patton’s face, and he hated it already. “Speaking of eye catching,” Patton said, “our dearest prince spent the entire meal _flirting_ with the apprentice from Rovirno.”

“I was not,” Roman said when Logan raised his eyebrows at him.

“Did he compliment his swordsmanship?” Logan asked with a small smirk, moving to restack some of the books on his desk, and Roman groaned.

“Don’t act as though you weren’t just as bad as me, Patton,” he said. “All you were focused on was how _well educated_ Lady Elianor is.”

Logan paused and looked up with a frown. “Lady Elianor?”

“She’s kind, is all,” Patton said. “Just because I enjoy someone’s conversation it doesn’t mean that I was… I just thought she was kind!”

Roman snorted. “Whatever you say, dear Patton.”

Logan had ducked his head back over his books and was gathering them in his arms once more. “I really must finish here,” he said. “It’s late, and I need to get these shelved before I retire for the night.”

“Need any help?” Patton asked, stepping forward and offering his hands.

“No,” Logan said, lifting the pile. He spared Patton a small smile before dropping his eyes to the ground. “I’ll see you both tomorrow. Have a good rest.”

“Rest,” Roman said, pushing himself out of the chair. “That just might be the best idea you’ve ever had, Logan.”

“If you’re sure,” Patton said, watching Logan back away from them.

“I am. Goodnight.”

“Night!”

They left the library, and at the end of the hall Patton squeezed Roman’s arm in farewell and they parted ways. When Roman got to his chambers, the fire was lit in his hearth, casting a warmth throughout the space that made him smile.

He didn’t even bother with washing his face before he collapsed onto the soft furs of his bed and fell asleep.

X X X X X

Roman had been worried that the arrival of the sorcerers would steal time away from his training, but the next day they all retreated to explore the library, something that Roman didn’t need to be present for. That meant that he had a chance to take his horse out for a beautiful ride in the forest. It also meant, however, that both Patton _and_ Logan were busy, so he had to do so alone.

He still had an agreeable enough time, and as he rode back to the stables he felt pleasantly worn out. He pulled on his horse’s reins to bring them both to a gentle stop just outside the doors of the stable, then slid out of the saddle to touch down on the ground.

It was nearing evening and the sun outside was dropping steadily over the tops of the distant trees. Roman would have very little time to wash before dinner; he reached up and brushed his fingers through his hair, hoping he looked artfully windswept instead of dirty.

Taking his horse by the reins, Roman led it into the small stables. There were a dozen stalls lined up on either side of them, most occupied by horses belonging in some way to either him or his father. The building was empty, but Roman didn’t mind terribly. He enjoyed tending to his horses, even if it might have been more time efficient had a stableboy been present.

Roman pushed open the gate to an empty stall and walked in, stepping aside so the horse could enter. It was a beautiful animal with rich dark hair, and it gazed calmly at him as Roman carefully undid the fastenings to remove the saddle. He slid it off and carefully set it aside, then stepped close and pressed a hand to the horse’s flank, feeling its strong muscles beneath his fingers.

A sound from behind him made him startle so abruptly the horse turned its head to stare at him. Roman frowned, glancing behind him into the stable and seeing no one.

The horse sniffed as Roman stepped forward, brushing his fingers gently over the horse’s neck as he passed. He left his stall, turning to the right where the noise had come from, and peeked into the stall next to him.

There was a horse there, a dappled white and grey one, and someone brushing it down. He had his back turned to Roman, but Roman thought that he recognized his thin frame, the slightly too long to be respectable dark hair.

Uncertain of what to do, Roman tried to take a step back- and winced when his foot hit a rake leaned against the wall behind him. The boy jumped at the sharp sound, whirling around and dropping the brush. The horse whinnied in irritation as the boy stared at Roman with wide eyes.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, and Roman raised his eyebrows. Hardly anyone dared curse in front of him.

“My apologies,” Roman said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The boy bent down and picked up the brush. “Yeah, well,” he said as he straightened up. He glanced at Roman, briefly, and Roman saw his eyes jump to Roman’s red sash, emblazoned on the shoulder with the royal insignia, before falling to his own feet. “It’s fine.”

Roman took a moment to appraise him. He recognized him, now, as the servant that had accompanied Damian and Achilas. He was dressed in a plain black and grey tunic, and his hair was so long it fell into his eyes and nearly hid the dark shadows growing beneath them. If Roman hadn’t known better, he might have thought it was makeup.

“You’re from Rovirno, yes?” he asked.

The boy didn’t look up from the ground, but he tucked his chin down in a nod.

“Damian and Sir Achilas’s servant?”

He looked up at that, just briefly. His entire face had a very pinched, nervous look to it that made Roman uneasy, like he had just said something wrong. “Servant,” he repeated after a moment. “Yes, I am.”

Roman tried to ease the boy’s obvious anxiety with a broad smile. “Wonderful,” he said, wishing that he could inch away from him. He normally enjoyed talking to everyone, even the help, but this boy was making him feel particularly unsettled. Perhaps it was the blank way he was staring at his own feet, as though he wished Roman weren’t there.

Roman glanced behind him at the stable, which was considerably darker now, and realized how much time had passed. He would certainly be late for dinner.

“My horse is in the stall next to this one,” he said. “It needs to be watered and fed. Take care of that, will you?”

The boy didn’t exactly look at him, but Roman still felt his full attention on him, heavy and consuming. “Your horse,” he repeated.

Roman wondered if the boy was hard of hearing. “Yes,” he said, trying to articulate clearly. “Give it water and food.”

Another few seconds passed in silence, and then the boy tipped his head downward in a surprisingly graceful bow. “Certainly, your highness,” he said.

Roman opened his mouth to thank him, and then thought better of it. He backed up, towards the door. “Good,” he said, and then turned and left.

The interaction left him with an uneasy feeling that lingered throughout dinner- until Damian laughed at one of his jokes and laid a gloved hand on his arm, which made Roman smile despite it all.


	2. Chapter 2

Damian was getting frustrated with himself, a frustration that would inevitably bubble over and be taken out on Virgil.

“ _Ignea_ _,_ ” he hissed, bare hand pointed towards the empty hearth. Virgil could see the scar tissue there in the dim light emanating from the candles, the pinkish skin that crawled from the tips of his fingers and curled around his wrist.

The hearth remained unlit.

Damian dropped his hand, nostrils flaring in irritation. Virgil, perched cross-legged on the great trunk of clothing that Damian had brought with him, pursed his lips so as not to accidentally say anything. He knew that nothing he said would be taken kindly now, whether it be criticism or encouragement.

“It’s this damned weather,” Damian said, yanking his yellow glove out of his pocket. Virgil watched him shove his fingers back into it, trying to keep his expression blank and impassive. “Winter’s already passed and it’s still so dreadfully cold.”

There was a pause. Virgil saw Damian was looking at him out of the corner of his eye and took that as a sign that he was seeking conversation.

“It might just be that you’re still tired from the journey,” he said.

“Yes,” Damian said. “Yes, it was a long one, wasn’t it? It would be enough to exhaust anyone.” He dropped into the plush chair that had been pushed near the hearth and crossed his arms, gazing across the room at the closed window. The sky was dark outside, but Virgil knew that during the day the room boasted glorious views of Mydilos. The king had taken great care to place each of the sorcerers in beautiful rooms. Virgil had been in Achilas’s only briefly when he had put his bags away, but he had been impressed by both its size and decorations.

“It’s a fine kingdom though,” Damian said, and Virgil tried not to sigh. It wasn’t often that Damian was in the mood to talk to him, but he seemed to require it now.

“Yes,” Virgil said.

“The castle is wonderful,” Damian said, “as is the Royal Library. We knew that it would be, of course, but it far surpasses any expectations that we might have had. The collection of magical texts they have is… magnificent.”

It wasn’t the first time that Damian had mentioned this. The entire conversation had been reiterated several times over the past several days, and if it continued the way it always had, then next Damian would want to discuss-

“And Prince Roman is quite cordial,” he said.

Damian’s expression grew more distant, and Virgil tried not to roll his eyes. He could see the infatuation that had consumed Damian, and though Virgil wished he could poke fun at it, he didn’t dare. It wasn’t just that Damian was actually showing interest in someone- that in itself was a miracle, because Damian had been quite clear about his distaste for all things romance related- but it was that Prince Roman was a…

Well, Virgil thought he was irritatingly arrogant, but that was something he never dared say out loud to anyone. Not when the entire kingdom seemed to adore their crown prince, and the only person he spoke to regularly had apparently made up his mind to marry him one day.

“Yes,” Damian said, tapping one gloved finger on the arm of his chair and staring out the window. “Very cordial indeed.”

A knock at the door made Virgil jump. He sat up straight, head snapping to look at it, while Damian simply sighed and called, “Yes?”

The door opened and closed again, and Virgil stood quickly as Achilas strode in, dark blue robes pooling gracefully at his ankles, and scanned the room with his eyes. His gaze passed entirely over Virgil as though he were invisible and settled on Damian.

“Have we been reduced to living in the dark like moles?” he asked, and though it was dark Virgil knew there was a displeased expression on his face. “Make yourself useful and light a fire, boy.”

Virgil ducked his head and scurried around Damian to the empty hearth, kneeling on the stone in front of it. The servants had left a small box of flint and kindling beside it. He picked this up as Achilas waved his hand, pulling a chair that had been pushed to a far corner of the room towards him with a flick of his wrist.

“I’ve come to discuss affairs with you,” Achilas said, crossing his legs and leaning sideways in his chair in that way that made him look like a roguish knight about to regale them with a tale of his plundering. Virgil felt disgusted with himself for admiring him for the ease of his posture, the swagger of his confidence. “I trust you’ve been treated quite comfortably these past few days?”

“Certainly,” Damian said, and Virgil knew he was thinking about the prince again. He tossed a bit of kindling onto the logs and raised the flint, setting the stone against the flat edge to strike it.

“Good,” Achilas said. “You have been participating suitably in our meetings with the other sorcerers. I was quite impressed today with your question about the methods in which to utilize asphodel to strengthen healing spells.”

Sparks flew as Damian straightened where he sat, a pleased smile on his face. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

Virgil grit his teeth and struck the flint again, trying to aim the sparks toward the kindling, but though they hit the right place none of them caught.

“I hope that you’re paying attention to everything that is occuring in those meetings,” Achilas said. “The king sent us here for many reasons, many having to do with the information stored in that library they tend to here.”

“It’s certainly an impressive collection,” Damian agreed as Virgil struck the flint again.

“Yes,” said Achilas. “Oh, for god’s sake, you complete idiot- _ignea_!”

Virgil dropped the flint with a clatter and leapt backwards as a fire flared abruptly in the hearth, bursting so violently he felt the heat of it on the tips of his fingers. He stared at it, heart pounding, as Damian snickered behind him.

“There,” Achilas said. “Get away from it so we can warm ourselves.”

Virgil swallowed, put the flint back in the box, and stood from the ground. He backed away from the warm hearth, eyes fixed warily on the back of Achilas’s head, but the man’s irritation seemed to have been satiated. He had fixed his attention back entirely on Damian now, leaving Virgil to hover behind them both like a nervous shadow.

“It’s important that you continue to prove yourself in these meetings,” Achilas said. “Most of the attention will be fixed on me, of course, as the official court sorcerer, but Ibykos is clearly interested in the talents of apprentices as well. Everything that you do must reflect well on both me and your kingdom.”

“Of course, sir,” Damian said, bobbing his head enthusiastically.

“I have also noticed,” Achilas said, resting his arm languidly on the back of his chair, “that you seem to get on rather well with the prince.”

Virgil had edged his way back over to the trunk, but he didn’t dare sit down. He remained standing in front of it, backs of his legs pressed against the wood, hands clasped behind his back as he watched Damian color again.

“We make very good conversation, yes,” he said.

“That’s good,” Achilas said. “Continue to do so. Any extra leverage that we can get within the kingdom will be incredibly helpful to our king.”

 _Damian won’t have any problem with that_ , Virgil thought, and at risk of laughing out loud when Damian nodded frantically once more, he cleared his throat.

As though remembering for the first time that he was there, Achilas glanced at Virgil with a scowl made sharper by the firelight. Any amusement Virgil felt died quickly under his harsh gaze.

“You’re still here,” he said. He waved one hand at him, flippant, and Virgil was relieved that he seemed too relaxed to be overtly scathing. “We have no further use of you tonight. You’re dismissed.”

Jumping at the chance to leave, Virgil dipped his head in a smooth bow, lips forming the words “At your leave, sir” before he could think of them. Then he turned, straightened, and hurried from the room, closing the heavy wooden door carefully behind him so it didn’t make a loud noise.

The hallway outside was empty and cold. Damian had been put into the west wing of the castle, positioned almost directly three floors above the kitchens. Virgil set off, keeping close to the heavy stone walls as he moved down the hall and turned the corner, ducking through the half-hidden entrance to the narrow stairway he had learned the servants took. There was no one there at this hour, but he still moved slowly and quietly as he descended, hand brushing against the wall to keep himself oriented in the dark.

He stepped onto the ground floor and glanced around. He was near the servant’s quarters, where he might have stayed had Achilas sent word that he would be bringing Virgil. As it was, all of the spare beds had been accounted for and Virgil had been left without a room, meaning that he had been rather unceremoniously tossed a bedroll and told to find a warm enough spot on the ground in the kitchen.

It wasn’t entirely awful, he thought to himself as he slipped into the room. They always kept a fire burning here, and if he was especially sneaky he could steal a few bites of food to bolster him between the meals he shared with the other visiting servants.

He kept his bedroll carefully hidden behind the pile of spare logs kept near the fire. He crouched down beside it and pulled at the fabric, letting it unravel. The blankets they had given him were actually quite decent, and the stone beneath him was warmed enough by the fire that Virgil felt quite content as he crawled on top of the bedding.

He didn’t lay down immediately, but pulled his legs to his chest and leaned back against the wall. The kitchen was empty now, but it wouldn’t be for long. It was late, which meant he would only have a few hours before the kitchen awoke before dawn to begin preparing food for the day. Virgil knew he should sleep, but he stared out at the empty counters, not the least bit tired.

Servant, the prince had called him in the stables. Virgil snorted. It wasn’t the right title, but he supposed it wasn’t entirely wrong, either. Virgil reached out and grabbed a small piece of wood that had broken off from the stack, rolling it between his fingers, looking thoughtfully at it.

He hadn’t minded tending to the prince’s horse- he rather liked horses- but he also hadn’t cared for the tone the man had used with him. He supposed that he didn’t deserve anything else from a prince, but it still grated at Virgil’s nerves to remember the haughty look in his face.

Prince Roman was perfect for Damian. Virgil half hoped they _did_ end up betrothed, if only so that he could see the universe reach true balance, just once.

“ _Ignea_ ,” Virgil said, and felt the characteristic rush of warmth that accompanied his magic rush up his arm and into the wood. A small flame lit the tip of it, casting warm light on Virgil’s blankets. Virgil rested his head against the stone wall behind him, watching the flame lick the wood, unafraid that it would burn him; it danced, perfectly under Virgil’s control, throwing shadows in his tiny corner of the room.

He watched it until the fire had eaten the wood up, and then curled his fingers to extinguish the flame. He fell asleep satisfied, curled up on the quite decent blankets on the quite decent stone floor of the kitchen.

X X X X X

Virgil wasn’t sure if he was supposed to knock again. He had been standing outside the large door for several minutes, waiting for a response, but none seemed forthcoming. He supposed he could just keep waiting, but his legs were beginning to ache from standing there, and he could feel the time pass with every second he stood staring at the knots in the wood. Damian would be irritated with him if the errand took longer than ten minutes to run, and Virgil hadn’t slept well enough the night before to be able to put up with Damian’s attitude.

Nervous, Virgil glanced over his shoulder, but the hallway was empty behind him. He was sure that he had the right door. He had been directed to the court sorcerer’s chambers by several servants, and the long climb it had taken to get here informed him that he was in some kind of tower, which seemed like the right sort of place for a court sorcerer’s chambers.

Perhaps whoever was in there just hadn’t heard him knocking. Damian had told him that he would be expected; the court sorcerer’s apprentice had apparently promised to let him borrow a book with pertinent information to what they were studying, and Damian had promised to send someone by to collect it.

Well, Virgil was here to collect it, and he would be damned if he were going to go back empty handed and get scolded for it.

He carefully took hold of the doorknob and turned it, grateful when the hinges didn’t creak. He pushed the door open just enough to step inside and then closed it behind him, glancing around.

“Hello?” he called. The room remained empty.

Virgil inched further, looking around with wide eyes. Had he not known that the library was on the first level he might have assumed that this was the famed collection he had been told of. He was in a large, circular room surrounded on all sides by shelves and shelves of books and other various odds and ends tucked next to them. Several tables were spread around the room, as well as several comfortable looking chairs and sofas. It was bright in the room, very bright, and Virgil looked up to see that the ceiling was made of soaring glass. He could see the sky beyond it, dotted with clouds.

Virgil took another step forward. The floor beneath him was carpeted in rich red, muffling his footsteps. Captivated by the sheer amount of books around him, Virgil walked to the center of the room, turning in a circle to take it all in.

“Shit,” he said softly to himself. Rovirno had nothing like this.

He dropped his gaze to one of the tables. This, too, was spread with books, as well as a collection of other oddities he wasn’t quite sure what to make of. He spotted several potions vials- some empty, some filled with strange liquids- as well as a fair number of ink pots and luxurious quills. Virgil reached out to gently touch what he thought was a peacock feather. It was soft to the touch.

Curiosity growing, Virgil glanced at a page in one of the open books. It was an older one, made of yellowing parchment bound in leather. Neat writing, cramped and perfectly straight, was scrawled across it. Virgil read the first few lines and his heart soared.

It was a spellbook.

Damian had several that Achilas taught him out of, but Virgil was never allowed to get a good look at them. He hadn’t even been allowed to _touch_ one since Achilas had taken Damian on as an apprentice.

And now, here was one of the most beautiful that Virgil had ever seen, and he couldn’t help himself. He moved closer, reaching out to flip the page, feeling the well worn parchment, smoothing it down with a sort of reverence.

He read the instructions on this page and was delighted to find that he half-recognized it. Achilas had used the spell before, but Damian had yet to master it.

Virgil ran his eyes down the page, taking in the directions, and then glanced at the large, beautiful peacock feather quill. He raised his hand, stared at it, and whispered, “ _Scribia_.”

The feather rose smoothly, as though someone had picked it up and was holding it, poised at the ready. He flicked his wrist and it jumped neatly into an open pot of ink beside it, the tip nudging into it gently. Then Virgil paused, bit his lip, and scanned the table for- there, an empty sheet of parchment.

He felt another warm rush of magic as the quill neatly rose once more, floated to the parchment, and touched down. He hesitated once more, thinking, then said, “ _Imitantur_ _Virgil_.”

He smiled as the quill began to move leisurely across the page, scrawling ink. He twisted his head to watch as it spelled his name out in intricate cursive, the penmanship much finer than anything Virgil could have done. It was satisfying watching it cross the parchment, forming a g, an i, looping into the l.

It wasn’t often that Virgil saw his name written out, especially not so beautifully.

It was so peaceful watching the quill work that he actually yelled out loud when a voice behind him said, “Oh, well done!”

Virgil whirled around, quill slamming to the table guiltily and splattering ink across the paper. Virgil pressed himself back against the table and stared, wide eyed, at the person standing behind him.

He recognized him immediately- the court sorcerer’s apprentice, the one that had been there to greet them when they had first arrived. He was dressed in a simple pale blue shirt and trousers cinched tight at the waist, and his hands were held high in a sign of peace. He looked as startled as Virgil felt.

“My goodness,” he said. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to give you such a fright. Are you alright?”

Virgil’s heart was still pounding. He nodded, wondering if it would be too suspicious to inch to the right just a bit to try and hide what he had been doing.

That was stupid, though. He knew it was too late.

“Is it ruined?” The sorcerer moved closer, hands dropping, and Virgil eyed him nervously as he peered around Virgil to the parchment. The beautiful writing on it was covered in a splatter of ink. “Oh,” he said, soft face crumpling in disappointment, and Virgil braced himself for the incoming reprimand.

Then, the man’s face lit up again with a broad smile. “That’s alright,” he said. “You can make another one!”

He grinned at Virgil, who just stared back at him. After a moment of silence, when it became clear that he was waiting for Virgil to speak, Virgil said “A-another one?”

“Certainly! Your control was absolutely impeccable. That’s such a tricky spell to master, too. How long have you been studying?”

“I haven’t,” Virgil said. He pressed the palms of his hands against the flat edge of the table, wishing that he could just make a run for it. That would be impolite, though, considering that he had just been caught breaking in. “I’m- I’m terribly sorry for intruding, and- it was only that no one was answering the door, and I’m here on an errand-”

“Don’t be silly! No harm done at all.” The sorcerer cocked his head, his expression curious. He had a pleasant face, Virgil thought idly to himself, the sort that would put a normal person at ease.

Virgil felt far from ease, though.

“I haven’t seen you at any of our meetings,” he said. “What kingdom are you from?”

Virgil shook his head, quickly trying to dispel those thoughts. “I’m not a sorcerer,” he said.

The man’s expression changed to one of amusement. “Well, for a not-sorcerer, that was quite an impressive bit of magic you just did there.”

Virgil dropped his gaze to his feet, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn. He couldn’t help it; it had been so long since someone had complimented him, especially on his magic, and even though it wasn’t safe to accept it he couldn’t help but blush under the praise.

“I was sent by Damian,” he said quietly. “He said that you had a book he might borrow?”

He hadn’t thought that it was possible for the man’s smile to widen, but it did. “Of course!” he said. “So you’re from Rovirno? Are you apprenticed to Achilas as well?”

“Oh, no,” Virgil said, too quickly. He bit his tongue to keep from expressing his distaste, then said, “I’m just-” He remembered the prince’s haughty expression, the way Achilas had glared at him while he had bent over the empty hearth. “Just a servant,” he finished.

“Just a-?” The man’s eyebrows furrowed just briefly. There was a pause, and then he said, “Well, that’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

Virgil might have laughed if he wasn’t still afraid that he was going to be punished for breaking into the court sorcerer’s chambers, although he was beginning to think that this very strange, still-smiling man didn’t quite have the heart to punish anyone for anything.

“I have the book right here,” the sorcerer said, and reached past Virgil to pluck a thin volume off the table. He held it out, and Virgil took it, relieved that his mission had finally been completed.

Virgil dropped his head in a bow. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

“Oh- oh, please, none of that.” The man looked almost embarrassed, cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. “I would very much appreciate it if you called me Patton.”

Virgil frowned, because he was quite certain he wasn’t supposed to call someone of this stature by their first name, but he was also never one to refuse a direct order.

“As- as you wish,” he said.

The sorcerer- Patton- smiled, eyes bright behind his thin glasses. “And might I have the pleasure of learning your name?”

Virgil curled his fingers around the edge of the book, dropping his head over it. “It’s unimportant,” he said.

“Unim- well, that’s just nonsense, isn’t it?” Patton stepped forward, and Virgil realized with horror that he was squinting at the ink-splattered parchment on the table. After a moment, he said, “Virgil, is it?”

Virgil hoped his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “Yes, sir,” he muttered.

“Patton, please,” said Patton gently. He stepped back again, and Virgil felt that he had enough space to breathe and raise his eyes once more. Patton was looking at him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Being a servant is a fine occupation, Virgil,” he said, “but with the control you just demonstrated over an intermediate level spell, I find it hard to believe that you’ve had no training in spellwork.”

“I haven’t,” Virgil said. “Really, I- I can only do a little bit of magic. It’s not even good.”

“I hardly think that’s true,” Patton said. “If you aren’t apprenticed to Achilas, I shall go to him right away and suggest that he take you on as well.”

“No!” Virgil’s voice came out sharp, desperate, and Patton took a surprised step back, eyebrows raised. Virgil recoiled immediately, hunching his shoulders in, already guilty. Patton had been kind enough not to punish him, and was much too important for Virgil to yell at.

Still, the idea of Patton speaking to Achilas about his magic made panic bite sharply at Virgil’s chest.

“No,” he said, quieter now. “Please, I- please don’t tell anyone that you saw me using magic. Please.”

“But- why?”

Virgil just shook his head. “It’s not important,” he said. “I can’t even do it well. Just- please don’t tell anyone you saw it.”

Patton stared at him. Overhead, the louds were drifting lazily in the sky. Virgil wished he was outside in the sun, or anywhere except for here.

“Alright,” Patton said. “You have my word. I won’t tell anyone of your magic.”

Virgil had no reason to trust Patton, but the man had no reason to lie to him about this. He sank into another deep bow. “Thank you, sir- um. Patton.”

He stood, hugging the book to his chest, and kept his eyes carefully fixed on Patton’s shoes. He could tell they were very well-made, but they were so scuffed and worn they must be several years old now.

“I’m terribly sorry for entering without permission,” he said. “I swear to you that it won’t happen again.”

Virgil walked past Patton, keeping a respectful berth, headed straight for the door. He had almost made it when-

“Virgil.”

Virgil froze. He took a long, slow breath, readying himself, then slowly turned around. Here it was- Patton had decided to punish him after all. Would he go to Achilas or Damian, or set him a punishment of his own design?

But Patton was smiling at him again, his eyes still kind. He was holding something, and when Virgil looked at it he frowned when he saw that it was the ruined parchment.

Patton raised his hand over it and said, “ _Dictuma_.” Virgil watched, mesmerized, as the puddle of ink slowly sank deep within the parchment and disappeared altogether, leaving just the beautifully written words on it.

“Here,” Patton said, holding it out. When Virgil didn’t move, his smile softened. “So you don’t have to make another,” he said.

Slowly- sure that it was a trick- Virgil reached out and took it from him. Patton let go when Virgil had ahold of it and watched as Virgil hurriedly stepped away from him again, hugging both the parchment and the book protectively to his chest.

Virgil knew he should thank him, because that had been an absurdly kind thing to do for a servant, but his body was begging him to leave so that it could have a private panic about the whole situation. Instead he nodded once, sharply, and then turned on his heel and ran for the door.

He kept running, and didn’t stop until he had reached Damian’s chambers. He only paused briefly outside the door to fold the parchment up and tuck it carefully into his pocket where it would be hidden from view.

X X X X X

When Achilas and Damian were with the other sorcerers- which was most of the day- Virgil found that he had very little to do. Achilas often set him menial tasks, which normally consisted of Virgil cleaning one or the other of his possessions, but after they were finished he had most of the day left on his own.

Virgil spent the first few days that they were in Midylos staying close to the servant’s quarters, where he felt the most comfortable. Even though he had no task of his own he felt as though he were being productive in some way, standing there amongst the bustle of the inner workings of the castle. Then he noticed that the cooks shooting him dirty looks when he stood too in the way, hovered too close to the fire, and decided that he had to keep himself occupied in a different manner.

He would have spent more time with the horses, but the last time he had done so he had had a rather unpleasant run in with the prince, and he didn’t particularly fancy having to care for someone else’s horse again. Instead he devoted himself to learning the layout of the castle.

He still clung to the servant’s passages, taking side stairwells and hidden corridors whenever possible as he twisted through the halls of the palace. He was immediately impressed by both its size and grandeur. Virgil lived with Damian and Achilas in Rovirno’s castle, but it was half the size of this one, and nowhere near as nicely decorated. Midylos seemed to have as impressive a collection of art as they did literature, and they had hung grand paintings and sculptures in the most important parts of the castle.

The most magnificent pieces were displayed in the wing just outside of the Royal Library. Virgil was too nervous to go there often, as he was afraid to run into anyone too important, but he was drawn to one particular painting that he felt was just out of the way enough for him to approach. It was at the end of the corridor, so if anyone came out of the library he would be able to turn the corner and run for it.

It wasn’t a large painting, so Virgil had to step close to look at it. It was a landscape scene of the ocean in the midst of a storm, taut with the tension that came just before lightning struck. He stared at the brushwork of the water, the dark, roiling colors, the milky blackness of the sky. On the horizon, he could just make out a boat, with a single white flag twisting in the wind. It should have made him uneasy, but he couldn’t help but stare.

“Virgil?”

Virgil’s shoulders seized with panic. He turned, wishing he could step back but worried he would bump the painting, to see Patton behind him.

“I wasn’t,” Virgil said, wondering if there were some rule about looking at the art, “I wasn’t doing anything, I promise.”

Patton’s eyebrows drew together, but he was still smiling. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and pale trousers, and he looked extraordinarily comfortable and at ease. Virgil wondered what _that_ must be like. “I know,” he said. “I only wanted to say hello.”

Embarrassment colored Virgil’s cheeks. “Oh,” he said. Then, too late, he sank into a hurried bow. He could almost feel Achilas’s admonishment at his lack of respect echoing in his ears.

“Oh, please don’t,” Patton said. “I hate it when people bow to me. It feels too strange.”

Virgil lifted his head, confused. 

“Were you admiring the painting?” Patton asked. “It’s one of my favorites as well. The artist is a dear friend of mine.”

“You know them?” Virgil asked.

“Xue Fang,” Patton said. “She visited the palace a few years ago to do a commission for the king. She’s extremely talented.”

Virgil glanced behind him at the turbulent sea, wondering what it would be like to be able to create something like that.

“I was just about to have tea,” Patton said. “Would you care to join me?”

Virgil wanted to groan, but he hid that behind a polite look of interest. “You’d like me to serve tea?” he asked. Well, at least it would be something to do. 

“Oh, no,” Patton said, hurriedly shaking his head, “I would like you to _invite_ you to have tea with me. As my guest!”

 _As his guest?_ Virgil stared at Patton. Patton smiled back. At the end of the hall, the doors to the library creaked open and two people Virgil didn’t recognize walked out, chatting quietly. He looked nervously at them; what would Achilas say if he caught Virgil so close to the library talking to the court sorcerer’s apprentice?

Virgil should say no, but if Patton truly was offering to host him for tea, it would be incredibly rude to refuse.

“Uh,” he said. “Yes?”

“Oh, wonderful!” Patton’s smile widened. “Come, follow me.”

Virgil knew immediately where they were headed from the path they were tracing. He looked at his feet as they took the familiar steps up to the court sorcerer’s chambers, where Patton had him caught using his magic.

They walked in silence. Virgil had been worried about small talk, but Patton seemed content to keep quiet as they made their way up the stairs and to the door.

When they reached it, Patton waved his hand and it gently swung open. As he followed Patton in, Virgil wondered what it would be like to be able to use his magic that easily, that openly. Achilas had always kept a tight rein on Virgil’s powers, and would punish him if he found out that Virgil had even stepped foot in a place as deeply steeped in magic as the court sorcerer’s chambers.

Patton lead him across the room, around the tables and chairs, to a small door set between the bookshelves that Virgil hadn’t noticed. He smiled over his shoulder, cheeks dimpling, and Virgil dropped his eyes again as Patton pushed the door open again.

“These are my chambers,” he said, stepping aside so that Virgil could walk in. “Come in, make yourself comfortable.”

Virgil looked around as he stepped into the room, curious despite himself. The same thick red carpet carried in from the other room, but even though this one this space was much smaller it felt lighter, more open. The walls weren’t packed with shelves of books and trinkets; instead, a circular window took up much of the space, through which Virgil could see an incredible view of the the kingdom stretching below them. A table sat in the center of the room surrounded by four very bulky, mismatched armchairs.

Virgil stood just inside the room, looking around at everything as Patton walked to the hearth and knelt down in front of it. He waved his hand, and a fire sprang up on the logs. He looked over his shoulder at Virgil, the light of the fire touching his hair so that it looked golden, and Virgil’s heart leapt at how lovely he looked.

“Please take a seat,” Patton said. “I just have to wait for the water to warm.”

Virgil approached the table, slowly, still not quite sure if he was dreaming that this was happening. He glanced at the chairs, at the intricate patterns on the fabrics, and chose the most nondescript one- a tall-backed muted purple one that looked as soft as it did elegant.

As he sat down, Patton walked past him to the other side of the room, and appeared a moment later with a plate of cookies.

“Here you are,” he said, setting them down on the table. “I made them myself!”

Virgil waited until Patton had gone again to poke at the fire before carefully taking a cookie. They were pale yellow and a little misshapen, but he wanted to be polite, and he hadn’t eaten anything yet today. He took a careful bite, nibbling at the corner, and would have moaned if that had been an appropriate response.

They were _good_.

He pressed himself back into his chair and watched as Patton placed a plain white teapot on the table, humming to himself. He walked to the fire and pulled a small pail of water out of the flames, brought it over to the table, and carefully poured it into the pot. Steam curled up from the lip as he set the pail down again by the hearth.

“Do you take milk and sugar?” he asked.

Virgil swallowed the bite of cookie he had just taken and said, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

Patton kept his tea leaves in a small box painted with an abstract depiction of the sun. He spooned some into the pot and closed the lid, then set a cup of milk and sugar on the table.

“Thank you for joining me,” Patton said, setting two tea cups on the table. He sat down next to Virgil in the short, pale yellow chair stitched with orange flowers. Virgil couldn’t help but think it was a bit of a cheerful eyesore. “Tea is made all the lovelier by good company, don’t you think?”

“Thank you for having me,” Virgil said. He had finished his cookie, so he sat with his fingers twisted together under the table as Patton poured dark tea into each cup. He smiled at Virgil as he set one in front of him.

“Of course,” he said.

Virgil waited until Patton had helped himself to milk and sugar before reaching for it himself. He poured a fair helping of each into his cup until his drink was pale, and then curled his fingers around the warm cup.

“How are you enjoying Midylos so far?” Patton asked, taking a cookie for himself.

“It’s lovely,” Virgil said.

“I would have to agree with you there,” Patton said with an indulgent grin. “I understand that it’s very different from Rovirno. Damian was telling us all about your kingdom.”

Virgil gripped the cup harder at the mention of Damian. Oh, god, if he or Achilas knew that he were here- “Yes,” he said. “It’s different.”

“What’s Rovirno like?”

Virgil hesitated. He looked down at his tea, at the steam curling off of it. It was still too hot to drink. “It’s- nice,” he said. “Far warmer than it is here.”

“I can imagine,” Patton said. “Have you lived there all your life?”

Virgil nodded.

“That must be nice,” Patton said. “I came to Midylos only a few years ago, but it’s quickly become my home.” Off Virgil’s questioning look, he said, “I lived in a small farming village on the outskirts of Tarias,” he said, “up until I was sixteen. When my mother died I came here to seek work in the palace, because I knew they were in want of servants. I was hired to assist Ibykos with his chambers, but when I demonstrated some of my magic to him he agreed to take me on as an apprentice. We have worked quite happily together ever since.”

“Oh,” Virgil said, unsure if he should offer condolences for Patton’s mother or congratulations for his obvious comfort now. “And you- you quite like it here?”

“Absolutely,” Patton said. “I have so much to learn from Ibykos, and I’ve made such excellent friends here. I simply must introduce you to Logan. He’s the chief librarian, and he’s so completely amazing.”

Virgil raised his tea to his lips and took a careful sip. It was still very hot, and overly sweet, but he felt the tension coiled in his chest relax as the warmth moved through him.

“Tell me,” Patton said, “how did you come to visit us?”

Virgil hesitated. “It’s…” he started, uncertain. “Complicated.”

“I have time if you do,” said Patton, and he looked so open and interested in what Virgil had to say that Virgil felt he might cry. Instead, he took another sip of his tea and thought about how to respond to Patton’s questions. Not with the truth, certainly, but perhaps he could scrounge together a version of it.

“I’ve worked for Achilas and Damian as long as I can remember,” he said. “When they decided to come here, I came to help them with whatever they needed.” _And because they don’t trust me enough to leave me behind_.

“What of your family?”

Virgil shook his head. “Just me,” he said.

He thought Patton might offer his condolences, but he just looked at Virgil over the top of his cup. There were tiny pink flowers painted along the rim of it, so small and intricate they must have been done with the tip of a needle.

“Another cookie?” Patton asked, sliding the plate closer to Virgil.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to-”

“Please, I insist,” Patton said, and his smile was warm enough Virgil felt alright reaching out to grab another one.

“I have to ask, Virgil,” Patton continued as Virgil took a bite. “I really was very impressed by the magic you displayed a few days ago. If you truly have had no formal education in it… well, that kind of natural talent isn’t common. You have a gift.”

The cookie suddenly tasted bitter. “No,” Virgil said. “I don’t, really, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not,” Patton said, his voice as gentle as it was firm. “I find it hard to believe that neither Achilas nor Damian have noticed it and asked if you would like to pursue any kind of magical education.”

Virgil set the half-eaten cookie down on the table. “You said you wouldn’t tell them.”

“I haven’t,” Patton said with a frown. “But Virgil-”

“You promised.” Virgil kept his gaze down, fixing it on his own cup of tea. “I’m asking you to keep that promise.”

“I will.”

The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the sky was clear and cloudless. It was a beautiful day, and Virgil was mucking it all up.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s alright,” Patton said. “I shouldn’t have pried. It’s just- I’m confused, is all. You don’t want to pursue magic?”

Virgil shook his head. “I’m not-” He pressed his lips together, thinking it over, then settled for just shaking his head again.

“Alright,” Patton said. “Well, if you should change your mind, know that I would be happy to train you in some basic spellwork. I’m no expert, but I’m at your disposal should you wish to learn.”

Virgil wanted to laugh, and cry, but most of all he wanted to leave. It had been a rather pleasant time up until that moment, but now he just wanted to go to his corner of the kitchen and curl up and sleep.

“I should be going,” he said, still not looking at Patton. “I have… work that I have to do.”

“Okay,” Patton said, and Virgil was probably imagining that he sound disappointed. “But- here. _Venia_.” His voice was just a brush of wind, and Virgil lifted his head to watch, fascinated, as a piece of cloth danced towards him from across the room, twisting in mid air to land on the table in front of Patton. Patton grabbed several cookies, set them in the cloth, and folded them up. “For the road,” he said, smiling as he handed them to Virgil.

Virgil took them, in awe of Patton’s kindness. Virgil had basically told him to stuff it when his questions had become too prying, and he was still giving Virgil food? “Thank you,” he said.

“Of course!”

They both stood, and Patton walked him to the door. Virgil peeked out into the main chambers to make sure that there was no one else there before he left, clutching the little packet of cookies close to him.

“Virgil,” Patton said, and Virgil turned to look at him. “I quite enjoy taking tea at this time, but everyone else is normally occupied. Would you care to join me here tomorrow at the same time? If it doesn’t take away from anything you have to do, of course.”

Virgil couldn’t help his jaw from dropping. Patton was inviting him to tea- again? He still thought that Virgil was nothing but a servant; why was he being so kind?

Virgil should say no, but Patton looked so hopeful, and the cookies were so good, and it wasn’t as though Virgil had anything else with which to occupy his time, anyways.

“Okay,” he heard himself saying.

Patton beamed. “Excellent!” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

It wasn’t until Virgil was taking the stairs down from the tower that he realized he had forgotten to offer to help Patton clean up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments on the first chapter! I really appreciate all of them. I'd love to know what you thought of this one as well <3 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Parry. A sharp clang of metal on metal, an easily repelled push against Roman’s arm. Riposte. He’s lunging forward now, thrusting his sword to cut through the sunlight, aimed at his opponent’s shoulder, and it is just barely blocked. Pull back to block a thrust at his chest, narrow his eyes at the opening just under his opponent’s left arm, a feint and a spin and then-

Roman was on his feet, tip of his sword pressed just above the knight’s heart. The knight stared up at him, panting, blond hair pressed into the dirt.

“I yield,” he said, breathless.

Roman lifted his sword, stepped back, and offered a hand to the knight. He grinned as he pulled the man to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Excellent job,” he said. “Make sure you’re not leaving your left side open, though; you have a tendency to do so when you strike right.”

The knight nodded and dipped his head into a quick bow. Roman brushed his hand through his hair, sweat on his forehead and underneath his armor, and turned to glance back towards the equipment in search of a squire who might help him undress.

Instead, he saw Damian standing next to the sword rack, his fine clothes in deep contrast to the general muck of the dueling knights around him. He had a black hat slung low over his forehead to block out the sun, but Roman could tell his eyes were fixed on him from across the field.

Roman smiled and raised a hand in greeting. He saw a flash of yellow as Damian returned the gesture, wagging his gloved fingers.

Damian continued to watch him as Roman approached, and Roman was glad that he had had his armor freshly polished that day. He slipped his sword into his belt as he got close and said, “Good afternoon, Damian.”

Damian sank into a languid bow. “And you, your highness,” he said. He smirked at Roman as he raised his head. “I must say, your talent is even more formidable than it was in Marbeda.”

“Well,” Roman said, “I’ve been training.”

“It has certainly been paying off.”

“You’re too generous with your praise,” Roman said, but tipped his chin in acknowledgment. “What brings you out to the training fields today? I thought that Ibykos would have you occupied talking about plants all day.”

“Sir Ibykos is incredibly knowledgeable about magical botany,” Damian said, “but it appears that even one such as he needs a break occasionally. He sent us away for a few hours to refresh ourselves.”

“And you decided to come and observe the knights?”

“Yes,” Damian said. “One in particular.”

Damian met his eyes, and Roman looked from the brown one to the yellow in fascination. He was accustomed to flirtatious solicitations, but he had to admit that Damian was certainly a unique suitor of his. Roman wasn’t exactly in the mood to pursue a romantic relationship, but he was never adverse to compliments.

Movement behind Damian caught Roman’s eye, and he looked over his shoulder to see the pallid-faced servant from the stables approaching. He looked as tired as he had before as he stopped and said, “Damian.”

Damian turned marginally, eyes still on Roman. “What?”

“Achilas wants you.”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

Roman glanced at the servant, whose face twisted into an extremely unprofessional scowl. “Damian,” he repeated. “Could I have a word?”

Damian turned all the way now to look at the servant. They stared at each other, and Roman watched what must have been a silent conversation in complete bewilderment. Then Damian turned back around, a broad smile on his face. The burn scar made it look stiff and frozen.

“I’m terribly sorry, your highness,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Roman assured him. “Feel free to stop by the training grounds any time you wish.”

Damian ducked his head, smile softening into something that looked more genuine. Then he turned and walked over to the servant, who was scowling at him again.

Roman watched them retreat several steps, talk, and exchange a few words. Then Damian said something and walked away, hand clamped to the top of his hat to keep it from flying off his head. The servant remained where he stood, staring after Damian, skinny and pale and clad all in black. Roman realized with a shiver that he looked like a specter on the fields, the kind that knights who had fought in devastating battles told tales about.

When the servant looked over his shoulder again, Roman realized that he was still staring. He had half an impulse to smile or do something to make… whatever had just happened last tense, but before he could do so the boy relaxed his face into an impassive expression, turned, and walked away after Damian.

Roman watched until they were both gone. Then he shrugged and turned to find a squire to get out of his armor.

None of that concerned him.

X X X X X

When Roman knocked on Patton’s door, he had been hoping to find his friend alone. He had just gotten out of one of his father’s advisor meetings, which he had decided that Roman should begin attending in order to better “learn the ropes” of being a ruler, which meant that Roman now had to sit through hours of polite arguments and political jargon. He had gone to Patton in the hopes of some quiet time with his friend, some tea and cookies, and perhaps some time to vent if Patton could spare it.

Instead, when his friend answered the door with a bright smile, he found himself meeting the shocked gaze of a total stranger.

“Hi, Roman!” Patton said, seemingly unaware that Roman’s eyes were fixed squarely over his shoulder at the table inside the room. “Come on in.”

“Um,” Roman said, forcing his gaze back to Patton. “I’m sorry. I was unaware that you had a guest.”

“Well, you came just in time. I’m about to serve tea. Care to join us?”

The promise of Patton’s cookies lured him into saying “Yes” even though he was a little too exhausted to properly socialize.

When he walked in, the boy sitting at the table pushed himself up so quickly his chair caught on the carpet and nearly felled him. He caught his balance on the edge of the table and threw himself into a hurried bow.

“Your highness,” he said, hair flopping into his face, and Roman recognized him as the servant from Rovirno, the one that had come for Damian the day before.

“Please, sit,” Roman said, forcing his lips into an awkward smile. He really wished that Patton had been alone. “Any guest of Patton’s is a friend of mine.”

“Have you two met yet?” Patton asked as the boy slowly lowered himself back into his seat. “Roman, this is Virgil. Virgil, Prince Roman. Virgil is from Rovirno.”

“The servant,” Roman said, and the boy’s head lowered again.

“I should go,” he said.

“No!” Patton had gone to the fire and lifted a pail of water out of the flames. He frowned at Roman, his usually cheerful face twisted into a look of warning. “Stay, Virgil. Please.”

Roman returned Patton’s scowl with what he hoped looked like confusion. Had he said something rude?

“Sit, Roman,” Patton said as he carefully poured water into the teapot, and it was more of an order than an offer. Roman resisted the urge to announce that he had to leave in order to make a hasty retreat- he had a feeling that Patton wouldn’t appreciate that. So he sat, sinking into his usual chair, which was across from Virgil. Roman stared at him curiously, but the boy kept his head bowed low so his face was hidden from view.

“Ah, thank you,” Roman said as Patton slid a mug of tea towards him. “So- Virgil- what brings you to, ah… what brings you here?”

“Virgil has been taking tea with me,” Patton said, sitting down between his two guests. He was still frowning at Roman, who found the entire situation rather unfair. “He’s lovely company.”

Roman bit his tongue to keep from snorting. Virgil hardly looked up when Patton set a mug of tea in front of him.

“Milk and sugar?” Patton offered, pushing the two dishes towards Virgil.

Virgil shook his head.

“Oh, cookies,” Roman said, noticing for the first time the plate on the table. He reached out and took one. “Where is Logan?”

“Busy, as always,” Patton said. “I couldn’t quite lure him out today.”

“A pity,” Roman said. “You would not believe the dreadful meeting that I had to just sit through.”

“Hm,” Patton said. “Virgil, what was it that you were telling me about Rovirno’s marketplaces?”

Roman pursed his lips and lifted his cup to hide his expression of disappointment. It seemed he wouldn’t be able to vent today.

“Uh,” Virgil said. He had lifted his head just enough to reach out and grab his cup, but he was making no move to drink from it. “They’re nice.”

“I’ve heard tales of the exquisite variety of vegetables your markets boast,” Roman said. He almost stuck his tongue out at Patton, just to prove that he _could_ make polite conversation with a guest. “I’m sure it is a sight to behold.”

“Yes, your highness.”

The only sound was Patton’s spoon clinking against his teacup as he stirred sugar into his drink. Roman let his gaze wander out the window, where he knew that he could look out over his training fields and the forest beyond it. He was dimly aware that this was very awkward, but he had long since learned that nothing was ever truly awkward for a prince.

“I haven’t introduced you to Logan yet, have I, Virgil?” Patton asked, setting the silver spoon delicately down on the table. “I’ve been meaning to. He’s simply wonderful.”

“Ah, yes, Logan is splendid,” Roman said. “Have you also been waxing poetic about me, dearest Patton?”

“I figured that Virgil probably got enough of that without me adding to it,” Patton said, his eyes twinkling as he sipped his tea.

“I suppose that’s true. You work for Damian, yes, Virgil?”

Virgil finally looked up, just a bit, and said, “Yes, your highness.”

“For how long?”

“My entire life, your highness.”

“Really?” Roman knew he shouldn’t be surprised, because he knew of many servants and maids who started out as children. Still, it was a long time to stay with one person, and Damian himself couldn’t be much older than Virgil. Virgil looked as though he was about Roman’s age, in fact. “Well. I’ve heard he’s a talented sorcerer. You must have picked up a fair bit about magic, then.”

Virgil’s fingers twitched, spilling tea onto the table, and then he was on his feet apologizing and Patton was saying, “No, no, please,” and with a wave of his hand had vanished the mess.

“I only meant,” Roman said, startled as Patton glared at him yet again, “that I know how difficult it is being so close to magic without practicing it. I hardly understand half of what Patton says. I was just trying to make conversation, _Patton_!”

“I’m so sorry,” Virgil repeated for the tenth time. He stayed close to the table, but he seemed to not know what to do without a mess to clean up. Instead he stood there, wide eyes fixed on his half-empty teacup.

“It’s fine,” Patton assured him. “Really, Virgil, no harm done. Won’t you sit back down?”

“Um- no, I think- I think I need to go. I mean- Sir Achilas needed me to do something, I just remembered, I- I’ve got, um- chores that I-”

“Alright,” Patton said, and his voice was soothing as he pushed his chair back in. “That’s fine. I’ll walk you out.”

Roman stared as Patton led Virgil over to the door, hand hovering just behind his back in a manner that told Roman that Patton longed to touch Virgil, to give the obviously stressed boy some comfort.

At the last second, Virgil stopped, turned back around, and bowed. “My apologies, your highness,” he said.

Roman knew he should say something but instead he just stared as Virgil and Patton disappeared out the door.

When they had gone, Roman sipped at his tea, waiting. He had no idea what had just happened, he had no idea why Patton had decided to invite a servant of all people to tea (alright, he did- Patton was just being his usual lovely self), and he had no idea what had just gone spectacularly wrong. He did know, however, that he was sure to get an earful from Patton about it when he got back.

He grabbed another cookie. He might as well fortify himself while he had the chance.

When the door creaked back open and Patton slipped in, Roman looked at him expectantly, chewing on a cookie. Patton met his eyes and smiled and, thankfully, there didn’t seem to be any irritation in them.

“Picked up another stray, have you, Patton?” Roman asked as Patton sat back down across from him.

Patton frowned as he picked his teacup up. “Sorry?”

“Virgil,” Roman said. “Why have you been having him over for tea?”

“I told you,” Patton said. “He’s good company.”

Roman shot him a look. Patton raised his eyebrows, challenging him right back.

“He is,” he said, and his voice was a little defensive. “You startled him, is all. I think you sometimes forget that you’re royalty.”

“Oh, I never forget that,” Roman said, and Patton rolled his eyes.

“He’s sweet,” Patton said. “And… interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

Patton shook his head, raising the cup to his lips. “He just is,” he said.

Roman waited for more, but Patton’s gaze had wandered to the crackling fireplace. Roman leaned back in his seat, kicking one leg up on the empty chair beside him, and said, “Are you certain that your interest is entirely friendly?”

That drew Patton’s attention back to him. “What?”

“I’m just saying that perhaps you find Virgil interesting because-”

“Oh, will you stop it?” There was a fair amount of heat in his words, enough to take Roman aback. “First it was Lady Elianor, and now Virgil? Can you truly not conceive of being interested in another person without being attracted to them?”

Roman stared, startled by the uncharacteristic outburst. He watched Patton scowl at him, then at the table, and then deflate entirely. His face crumpled into something bordering on miserable.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m- I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“No,” Roman said. “ _I_ was rude. My apologies.”

“It’s fine,” Patton said. “You were just asking. I just- no. I’m not interested in Virgil in that way.”

“Okay,” Roman said. The fire continued to crackle, and Roman twisted his ankle, trying to stretch the best he could underneath the table. “Should we go and see if Logan is available?” he asked, because mentioning Logan was sure to raise Patton’s spirits again.

Patton’s face seemed to crumple further. He shook his head, staring into his lap. “I tried,” he said, “this morning. He said he would be busy all day. He- he told me to go away.”

“Go away?” Roman asked. That didn’t sound like Logan at all. He would certainly say something like that to Roman, but never to Patton.

“Yeah,” Patton said. “I think he might be mad at me.”

“Why?”

Patton just shook his head again. “I don’t know,” he said. “Oh, I- I do hope I haven’t frightened Virgil off. I really have been enjoying his company. What with Logan so busy, and you being caught up in advisor meetings…”

“I’m sure you haven’t,” Roman said, feeling the first bites of guilt eating at his stomach.

“I hope not,” Patton said. He looked up again, his brown eyes wide, and then he was smiling again. Roman looked at him, mystified at his friend’s ability to switch emotions so easily. “Speaking of advisor meetings,” he said, “how did it go?”

It looked as though Patton was willing to listen to him rant after all. Roman resisted the urge to sigh.

If Patton was going to continue being such a good friend, he supposed he could at least _try_ to right the situation he had caused.

X X X X X

Roman was normally quite good at summoning people into his presence, but that was proving to be difficult to do when no one knew just who it was that he was trying to summon.

After fruitlessly asking several servants where he could find the servant from Rovirno, he eventually decided that he would just have to go to either Damian or Achilas for help finding Virgil. The day after the botched tea with Patton found him stripping out of his armor after training and marching through the halls of the castle, aiming towards the wing that he had been deferred to.

He had been told that Damian was staying in the West suite. The other visiting sorcerers seemed to have been scattered throughout the castle to give them strategic enough space to themselves. Roman’s father had warned him that important enough visitors got offended if they were all shoved into the same corner of the castle; nobles enjoyed being able to lay claim to their own wing of the palace.

As Roman approached the door to the west wing, he ran his fingers through his hair, aware that the wind outside had ruffled it rather nicely. He straightened his shoulders back as he knocked sharply on the door, already plastering a smile onto his face.

The door opened, and Roman’s smile faltered as he locked gazes with the boy he’d been looking for.

“Ah,” he said, trying to puff his chest back out importantly. “Virgil! Lovely to see you again.”

“Your highness,” Virgil said. He had opened the door an inch, just enough for him to peek out of. His eyes were dark and heavy and shadowed. “I’m sorry. Damian is out.”

“I wasn’t looking for Damian,” Roman said. “I was looking for you, actually. Might I come in?”

Virgil blinked, slowly, as though he wasn’t fully processing what Roman was saying. Then he ducked his head and let the door creak open, stepping back to make room for Roman to pass.

The room was spacious but dark, and uncomfortably warm. A sliver of sunlight peeked past the drawn curtains, leaving most of the space bathed in shadow. The fire was burning in the hearth even though it was still early in the day.

Virgil closed the door and then stood there for a moment, eyes fixed on his feet. Then he said, “Please, take any seat, if you- if you want.”

“Thank you,” Roman said. There were two high-backed chairs already arranged next to the fire, so he sat in one and gestured to the other. After a moment Virgil shuffled and sat down carefully on the edge of the seat.

“I wanted to apologize,” Roman began, deciding not to waste any time. He could already feel sweat gathering under his shirt cuffs. “It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable yesterday.”

“Oh, no,” Virgil said, “I- I wasn’t. Please, don’t-”

Roman raised a hand, and Virgil’s mouth shut abruptly. “No,” Roman said. “I was at fault. You have my apologies for that. Patton is one of my dearest companions, and he has clearly taken a liking to you. Although I do not understand why, I respect his choice and would never wish to offend you.”

Virgil’s too-long hair fell across his eyes when he tilted his head. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of the fire crackling. Roman couldn’t see the boy’s eyes, but he felt the weight of his gaze on him, and he felt uncharacteristic discomfort crawling up his spine. Had he said something wrong? Roman didn’t want Virgil to complain to Patton about this, lest he receive an earful from his friend.

“Your apology is accepted,” Virgil said. His voice was very quiet. “Is that all?”

“Oh- yes, I suppose,” Roman said, startled by the sudden change in energy. He frowned at Virgil, at the long limbs he kept so close to his body, at his hunched shoulders and the hair falling into his eyes and the way the light caught the shadows of his jaw. There was still something deeply disconcerting about him, but as Roman watched him lift his chin and stand, he could admit that there was also something lovely about the way he held himself- carefully, quietly.

“Shall I leave a message for Damian from you?” he asked, and Roman shook his head to snap himself out of his staring.

“No,” he said as he stood. “That’s quite alright. Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course. Your highness.”

The way he said it, tacked on as an afterthought, gave Roman pause as he moved across the room to the door. But when he looked back at Virgil, his gaze was not on Roman, but on the fire. Roman let his eyes run over the sharp slope of his nose, the curves of his lips.

He almost jumped when Virgil turned to look at him. “Anything else?” he asked.

“No,” Roman said. Then he turned and hurried to the door, opening it and slipping into the hall.

He was halfway back to his quarters before he realized that he had practically been dismissed by a servant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback, as always <3 let me know what you thought below! xoxo


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: verbal/emotional abuse.

Virgil was very grateful that Achilas didn’t care enough to wonder what he did during the day, because if the man discovered that he spent the time that he and Damian used to train with Midylos’s court sorcerer’s apprentice and the actual _prince_ of Midylos, he would be livid.

Virgil had been hesitant to join Patton for tea again after the debacle that had been his brief interaction with the prince, but the man’s imploring expression was enough to turn even the coldest of hearts in his favor. Virgil had hoped, at least, that they could return to their solo teas without any threat of royal interaction hanging over him.

Prince Roman, however, had been present at the last three teas that Virgil had attended, and Virgil was beginning to tire of the anxieties this caused him.

Virgil didn’t speak to the prince if he could help it, or speak at all, for that matter. He was content enough to let Patton and the prince talk over him about people and matters that he had no knowledge of, but Patton was always intent on drawing him into the conversation, and although the prince wasn’t at all interested in anything Virgil had to say, he made a good show of pretending for Patton’s sake.

So Virgil would respond in one word answers and go back to sipping his tea, and there would be an awkward pause in which the prince turned away from them both so he could roll his eyes, and then Patton would say something purposefully light-hearted and humorous to break the silence, and the whole cycle would repeat again and again.

It wasn’t fun anymore. Before, when it had just been Patton, Virgil had been grateful for someone to talk with. Now their interactions were closely watched by the prince, who not only held incredible authority over Virgil, but whom Virgil didn’t like at all. Patton had been so nice to Virgil, however, and Virgil feared he would upset him if he stopped showing up to tea, so Virgil… couldn’t stop.

It was an entirely preventable, uncomfortable position that reminded Virgil of why he didn’t interact with people in the first place.

One day, when he had managed to duck out of tea earlier than usual by announcing that he had chores to take care of, Virgil found himself wandering down the corridor that lead towards the library. He stopped at the end of the hall, hesitating, and then remembered that Damian had been boasting of an outdoor excursion the sorcerers were taking today. That meant that he didn’t need to fear Achilas finding him too close to anyone important, and with Patton and Prince Roman still securely involved in their tea, it was an ideal opportunity for Virgil to take a look at the coveted library that he had heard so much about.

He bit his lip as he approached the large wooden doors, which stood just slightly ajar. He waited for a moment outside, listening for voices and hearing none, before stepping close to the door and peeking through the gap.

“Oh,” he said, softly, feeling his breath catch at the sight inside.

The shelves were massive, and numerous, and Virgil could only see the first few from the door but already they were full of more books than he had ever seen in his life. Rovirno had a library, but it was nothing like this; Virgil could see the polished wooden floors stretching far back, filled with rows upon rows full of all sizes of tomes.

It was beautiful.

It was also silent, which bolstered Virgil’s courage enough to slip carefully through the doors. He let his gaze be drawn upwards to the vaulted ceilings, the massive chandelier lit with a dozen candles illuminating the space. He made sure to keep his footsteps light and quiet as he crept forward, slipping into one of the aisles and letting the sensation of books rising on all sides of him lull him into an awed peace.

Entranced, he reached out and brushed his fingers over one of the leather spines, and then another. He twisted his head to try and read the embossed title of one, but it was written in a language that he didn’t even recognize.

“Can I help you?”

Virgil flinched and leapt away from the shelf, only to knock into the one behind him. Thankfully it was far too large and heavy for him to push over, but his shoulders banged painfully against the wooden edges.

Virgil looked quickly at who had spoken to find a man staring at him with raised eyebrows. He was tall and slim with thick glasses and a very unimpressed frown.

“I’m- I’m so sorry,” Virgil said, shuffling away from the shelf. “I wasn’t- I was just looking, I swear I’m-”

“I am not accusing you of anything,” the man said. He crossed his arms, still looking extraordinarily bored with the situation. At least he wasn’t upset. “I am simply asking why you’re here.”

“I was, um,” Virgil said, tugging the sleeve of his shirt over his hands and wishing he could sink down into the floor. He stared down at his feet. “Just looking.”

“Just looking.” The man’s voice was dry. “And who, might I ask, are you?”

“No one,” Virgil said.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Virgil swallowed. He almost wished he was still having awkward tea with the prince. Almost. “Just a servant.”

“Hm,” the man said, sounding unconvinced. “I haven’t seen you before. Are you visiting, or-” He broke off, and when Virgil glanced up at him, he had pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Your name doesn’t happen to be Virgil, does it?”

Virgil opened his mouth, stunned, then closed it. He nodded slowly. “How-?”

“A hunch,” the man said. He stepped forward and extended his hand, his expression smooth and blank now. “My name is Logan,” he said. “I believe that Patton might have mentioned me?”

“Logan,” Virgil repeated, wishing more than ever that he could disappear on the spot. Here was the man that Patton had raved so much about, and he probably thought that Virgil was a complete idiot. He blinked a moment longer before accepting Logan’s handshake. “Uh, yes, he has,” he said, releasing Logan’s hand as quickly as possible.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Logan said, “but I really must know why you were lurking in my library.”

“I was just looking,” Virgil said, trying to look earnest and not like a creep that had been sneaking around the shelves of a freaking _library_. “Really, I thought it was empty, and I hadn’t been in here before, so I just- I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed, I can- I can go right now-”

“No, no,” Logan said with a small sigh. “I’ve no work to do at the moment, and Patton would kill me if I didn’t give you a proper tour. Would you like me to show you around?”

“You really don’t have to,” Virgil said quickly, anxious to make a run for it, but Logan shook his head.

“It’s no bother at all,” he said. “We really have quite an exquisite collection. I enjoy showing it off. Follow me.”

He turned and wandered away, and Virgil had no choice but to follow. With one last forlorn look behind him at the door, he shuffled off after Logan.

“Each aisle is organized by genre,” he said as he strode down one aisle and then turned to move along to another one. “Within that genre they are further broken down by language and then alphabetically arranged by the author’s last name. We were just in the aisle containing volumes on world history, and are now moving into ancient literature.”

The further they went, the more shelves there were, and the more Virgil felt dwarfed by the sheer amount of knowledge surrounding him. Logan did little to help ease that feeling; the man was like a walking curation of the books around him, citing genres and notable authors from memory and leaving Virgil with the distinct impression that the man was every bit the genius that Patton had made him out to be. He had easily picked up that Patton seemed to have a fascination with the man he spoke so fondly of, and now Virgil could understand why.

“This shelf has a very small collection, but one of the most important ones we have,” Logan said, stopping in one of the deepest corners of the library. He reached up and plucked a small book off the shelf, hardly the size of his hand but obviously very old. He held it carefully with thin fingers, opening the cover gingerly. “We aren’t quite sure what language it is, as it doesn’t match any pre-recorded language, but a number of these volumes have been found in nearby sites of notable religious importance. It appears to be not unlike a form of cuneiform, but there are departures from those traditions that tell us that it’s completely distinct. I’m actually working on trying to find a method of translating it at the moment. It’s sort of a pet project of mine.”

He looked down at the scrawled writing on the ancient pages not unlike a mother would look at their firstborn child, leaving Virgil to just stand there and watch. After a moment Logan looked up again, closing the book carefully.

“Well,” he said. “I’m quite impressed that you stuck around that long. Most people grow tired of the grand tour after the first twenty minutes.”

“Oh, no,” Virgil said hurriedly. “It’s… this is the most wonderful library I’ve ever seen. Truly, it’s… beautiful. And you know so much about it, it’s impressive.”

Logan cleared his throat and turned to put the book back on the shelf. When he turned to Virgil again, his pale cheeks were slightly flushed. “That’s kind of you to say,” he said. “I’m glad that you enjoy it.”

Virgil tried to smile, just a bit, to show his appreciation. “Thank you very much for the tour,” he said. “I really must be going now, though. I have… servant things to attend to.”

“Yes, of course,” Logan said, straightening up and immediately looking business-focused once more. “I’ve kept you far too long, Virgil. My apologies. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“You, too,” Virgil said awkwardly, uncertain of what to do. He took a step backwards and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to, uh. Go.”

“Virgil,” Logan said as Virgil turned around, and Virgil glanced back at him curiously to find that although Logan wasn’t quite smiling, his expression had softened into something more inviting than before. “You are welcome here any time,” he said. “Patton has spoken well of you, and I would enjoy getting to know you.”

“Oh,” Virgil said, startled. This was getting odder by the second- he was stunned that Patton had spoken well of him, let alone spoken of him at all. “Right. Um, thank you.”

Logan inclined his head, and Virgil took the opportunity to hurry away, retracing his steps back through the meandering aisles to the front doors. He slipped through them and into the quiet corridor, where he stood for a moment thinking about what had just happened.

“What the fuck?” he said out loud.

X X X X X

Virgil hadn’t told either Damian or Achilas that he was passing himself off as a servant, but Achilas seemed to subconsciously seize the opportunity and present Virgil with a number of tasks that served to secure his cover as well as annoy him immensely. Virgil was no stranger to manual labor, as he had been raised doing Damian and Achilas’s laundry and other odd jobs, but the amount of work Achilas was now assigning him was fairly ridiculous.

It was also slowly increasing as the days wore on.

“You want me to polish your shoes?” Virgil asked, holding the empty breakfast tray and staring at Achilas.

“Yes,” Achilas said, peering down his glasses at the book he was reading. He was sitting in bed, the covers drawn up over his hips, and looked intensely relaxed. Virgil supposed he ought to be, considering the man was now demanding that Virgil bring him breakfast in bed everyday, which meant that Virgil now had to wake a full hour earlier every morning. He was grateful that the cooks had grown accustomed enough to him sleeping in the kitchen that they didn’t have much of a problem with him falling in line with the other servants and grabbing a breakfast tray in the morning.

“All of them?”

Achilas lowered his book and scowled at Virgil. “No, just the left shoes,” he said. “I like to look asymmetrically clean, you’re absolutely right, Virgil.”

Virgil curled his fingers around the breakfast tray. “You do realize that there are people that are being paid specifically to do this, right? And- and this,” he said, gesturing with the tray. “I don’t know why you’re making me do it.”

Achilas snorted and tossed the book aside. “And what else have you got to do?” he asked, pushing the blankets aside so he could stand. “Please tell me what other pressing matters you have to attend to here.”

“I still haven’t got to do this,” Virgil snapped, frustration bubbling in him. He had been kept up half of the night because they had decided to fully scrub out the kitchen last night, and he had had to wake up an hour early to deliver Achilas’s stupid breakfast, and he was _tired_.

“Really?” Achilas crossed his arms. He was only wearing a plush green robe tied loosely at the waist, but he still managed to look threatening. “Because I do believe that you said you would do anything you needed to do to remain in the position you are. Isn’t that right, _Virgil_?”

The way he said it, scathingly, made Virgil hate his own name. He scowled down at the leftover bits of fruit on the tray. “As much as you’d like to believe it, I’m not your servant.”

Achilas stepped towards him so abruptly that Virgil flinched and lost his grip on the tray. Startled, he extended his hand to catch it, and felt a rush of warmth run through him that he associated with magic. The tray froze in mid air, halfway to spilling all of the dishes and leftover food onto the ground.

Virgil only had a moment to stare at it in horror before there was a hand on his shoulder, gripping him tight enough to hurt. He grit his teeth and tried to make himself look smaller as Achilas loomed over him, nostrils flaring and eyes flashing with irritation.

“What have I told you about magic?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm even as his nails cut through Virgil’s thin shirt to dig into his skin.

“It- it was an accident, I didn’t-”

“Did I ask if it was an accident?”

Achilas tightened his hold, and Virgil bit the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting out. He stared hard at the threads of Achilas’s robe, at the curly dark hair on the bit of bare chest peeking through.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

There was a long pause. Then Achilas released his shoulder, and Virgil inhaled sharply when his hand came up to grip his jaw. Achilas lifted Virgil’s head, forcing his gaze upwards so that Virgil met his dark eyes. Achilas was smirking, lips curled upwards as he leaned in close enough for Virgil to feel his breath on his face.

“Drop it,” he said.

His heart pounding, Virgil tore his eyes away to look at the still frozen tray. He blinked and it unfroze, falling to the ground with a loud clatter.

“Good boy,” Achilas said, his voice almost a purr. He let go of Virgil’s face and took a step back. “Pick it up and get out of here. If I see you using magic again, I will not let you off so easily.”

Virgil nodded, ducking his head so that Achilas wouldn’t see the tears he felt burning at his eyes. He dropped to his knees and started gathering the melon rinds and crusts of toast, tossing them back onto the tray as quickly as possible. All the while Achilas stood over him, watching with his arms crossed, and Virgil felt his spine bend under the weight of his gaze.

When he had picked up all the food, Virgil grabbed the tray and stood. He turned and immediately started towards the door, hoping- praying- that Achilas would just let him go.

“Virgil.”

Virgil stopped, but didn’t turn around. He stared hard at the door handle.

“Don’t forget my shoes.”

“Yes, sir,” Virgil said quietly. He forced himself to move slowly, to twist the handle like he normally would and not throw himself out the door.

Outside, Virgil held on tight to the tray and stared straight ahead, trying to calm his racing heart. There were still tears threatening to fall, traitorous tears, and Virgil sniffed and ducked his head to wipe his cheek on his shoulder.

“Stop it,” he muttered to himself even as he felt his breath quickening. “Stop it, you’re being stupid.”

He needed to go return the breakfast tray to the kitchen, and then he needed to get started on polishing Achilas’s shoes, because Achilas had brought a disproportionate number of shoes with him considering that they would only be in Midylos for a few months. Virgil started walking, listening to his own breathing rattling in his head, letting his feet unconsciously trace the steps back to to the kitchen.

It wasn’t until he was standing in front of the doors to the court sorcerer’s chambers that he realized his feet had betrayed him.

Virgil stared at the door. There were prickles of heat crawling up the back of his neck and his palms felt sweaty and all he wanted to do was to crawl into bed and hide, but he didn’t even _have_ a bed to hide in. That was probably why he mechanically opened the door and stepped in, and then let his feet carry him across the room towards the door that lead to Patton’s chambers, towards the only safe room in this kingdom that he had found. He just needed a moment to hide, he needed somewhere to remember how to breathe again.

Patton opened the door only a moment after Virgil knocked, a smile on his face that quickly disappeared when he got a good look at him. “Oh my goodness, Virgil,” he said, pulling the door open wider. “Come in.”

Virgil stepped inside. Patton shut the door behind him. A moment later the kitchen tray was being taken from Virgil, and Virgil looked down at his hands to find that they were trembling. Funny- he couldn’t feel them.

“Come here, come here,” Patton said, touching Virgil’s elbow and gently leading him towards the table. He pulled back the chair that Virgil normally sat in and guided him to it. Virgil sat, hardly aware of what he was doing.

“Oh, honey,” Patton said. Virgil blinked and looked down to find the other man knelt down in front of him, looking earnestly concerned. “Virgil, sweetheart, what happened?”

Virgil shook his head. His hands were still shaking, so he curled his fingers into fists and clenched them hard, willing them to be still. He just needed to breathe.

“Hey.” Patton gently grabbed Virgil’s wrists. He turned them over and ran his thumbs over Virgil’s fingers until slowly they loosened, relinquishing their sharp grip on Virgil’s palm. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it. Is there anything I can get you?”

Virgil shook his head again. Patton was still holding his hands, stroking the inside of Virgil’s wrist with his thumb, and it was sending warmth up through Virgil’s arms that wasn’t unlike the tingle he got from using magic. The sensation brought back the thought of the tray hovering in midair, and hands on his shoulder and his jaw and breath on his face, and Virgil’s lungs loosened up just enough for him to let out a choked sob.

“Oh,” Patton said, and then there were arms around Virgil. Virgil sat rigid, uncertain of what to do- he couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged him, let alone touched him in a way that wasn’t intrusive- and then he was suddenly crying very hard, and Patton was wearing a soft shirt, so Virgil let his head tip forward so he could bury his face in the warm fabric.

It was strange. Virgil was used to hyperventilating, but he wasn’t used to feeling a warm weight pressed against him or hands on his back trying to comfort him. It was foreign, and it only seemed to be making him cry harder.

Patton kept his arms around him as Virgil sobbed, all the while murmuring things that Virgil wasn’t entirely comprehending, but which sounded nice when they were being whispered into his ear. “You’re okay,” he was saying, “it’s alright, Virgil, I’m here.”

It was several minutes before Virgil had enough control of himself to pull away. Patton let him go, remaining crouched in front of the chair and watching Virgil scrub at his eyes with his sleeve.

“I’m so sorry,” Virgil said. His eyes and throat felt swollen, and he knew that he must look even more dreadful than usual.

“Don’t be,” Patton said. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not.” Virgil pressed his face into the palms of his hand, feeling the moisture on his cheeks and taking a long, shaky breath to try and steady himself. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Virgil, it’s alright to cry.”

“No, it’s not,” Virgil snapped, lowering his hands just enough to glare at Patton. Patton just looked at him, lips pursed into a worried frown. “It’s not alright. I’m- I’m being stupid. And I shouldn’t have come here, you shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“I don’t mind!”

Virgil could have laughed. Sometimes he didn’t quite know whether or not Patton’s kindness was just an act, because surely no one could be this selfless? “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “You’re the apprentice to the court sorcerer, and I’m just-”

“Don’t.” Patton’s voice was suddenly firm. When Virgil glanced at him, he had narrowed his eyes as though upset. “I think that after more than a week of rather _delightful_ teas, we can begin to call each other friends.”

“You don’t want that.”

“And why not?”

“I’m not-” Virgil took another deep breath. “You’ve been very kind to me, Patton, but you don’t want to be friends with me.”

“I think it’s rather bold of you to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“That’s not- I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to-”

Patton touched the back of his hand in a calming manner. “Virgil,” he said with a small smile. “I know that I haven’t known you very long, but I have a knack for choosing good friends. And I’d quite like to be your friend, if you’ll allow me.”

Virgil shook his head, sniffing as emotion bubbled up in his throat again. Patton made a soft tsking sound.

“Now, let’s not start crying again,” he said. “That would be just _tear_ -able.”

Virgil let out a breathless, incredulous laugh as Patton beamed at him. “Sorry, what?”

“Just trying to get you to smile,” Patton said. “Is that such a _cri_ me? Get it? Cry-me?”

“Oh, god,” Virgil groaned, burying his face in his hands to hide a grin. Patton laughed, and a moment later Virgil heard him get to his feet.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, and Virgil heard him bustling around for a moment. When he lifted his head again, Patton was approaching with a small cup of water. Virgil took it gratefully.

“No,” he said. He took a small sip of the water. “I need to get going.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said, “but I have chores to tend to.”

“Are you certain you’re feeling well enough?” Patton asked, frowning as Virgil stood up.

Virgil just shrugged and set the still full cup down on the table. “Thank you, again. For, uh… all of that.”

“It truly wasn’t a bother, Virgil.”

Virgil glanced around the small room and spotted the breakfast tray balanced precariously on the arm of a plush sofa in the corner of the room. He walked over and picked it up.

“I, uh,” he said, staring down at it. “I probably won’t have time for tea today. I’m behind on my chores now.”

“That’s alright,” Patton said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though?”

Virgil nodded down at the tray. He turned and walked over to the door, and was about to slip out when Patton said, “Virgil? I want you to know that you can come talk to me anytime you’d like. I’m always here to listen.”

Virgil raised his eyes to look at Patton to find him smiling kindly. God, Virgil had no idea how he’d come into the company of this man. He had never met someone who could be so unironically nice all the time.

He didn’t trust himself to speak, so Virgil just nodded before turning and ducking out the door. He continued to focus on his breathing as he hurried out of the sorcerer’s chambers, and by the time he got back to the kitchen to return the breakfast tray, he was calm enough to bare the cook’s scoldings for being late with a polite smile.

X X X X X

Virgil liked the horses that they had traveled with well enough that he often went down to the stables to check on them, even though he knew Midylos’s stable-keeps would take care of all their necessities. The animals were docile and friendly, and, best of all, the stables were normally empty. That meant that Virgil could go there and rarely run the risk of interacting with another human being.

He failed to take into account, however, that Prince Roman had an absurd amount of free time that he used to go everywhere a prince wouldn’t normally go.

“Virgil,” said a voice behind him while he was brushing down Damian’s horse. Virgil, startled, almost lost his hold on the brush as he turned around to find Prince Roman standing there. Despite his growing familiarity with the prince on a surface level, he still felt nerves jump into his throat.

“Your highness,” he said. “Can I help you with something?”

“No,” Prince Roman said. He stepped forward, holding a hand out to the horse. When the horse went to sniff it, Virgil half hoped that the animal would bite him. Instead, it huffed with what sounded like consent and allowed Prince Roman to move closer and stroke its neck. “I was just out for a ride.”

“Would you like me to brush down your horse?”

“That’s alright, I’ve already done that.”

Prince Roman continued to pet the horse. Virgil bit his lip and glanced towards the stable door, considering claiming that he had somewhere else to be, but that would be an incredibly rude thing to do to royalty, right?

Deciding that the prince couldn’t possibly remain for very long, Virgil went back to brushing the horse in the hopes that it would demonstrate that he was busy.

“You’ve met Logan, then?”

Virgil frowned as he pushed the brush through the horse’s hair. “Yes?”

“He spoke well of you.”

“Alright?”

“Virgil, might I be frank with you?” Prince Roman asked in a tone that told Virgil that he had clearly been sitting on his question for a while.

“Of course, your highness.”

“I’ve asked both Patton and Logan,” Prince Roman said, “but they are not being very… forthcoming with their answers, so I decided to go right to the source. Did you have any prior connection with either Patton or Ibykos?”

Virgil stopped brushing so that he could frown at the prince. “What?”

“Have you, perhaps, some kind of personal or familial tie to either, or is your relationship strictly professional?”

“I’m not entirely sure what you’re trying to insinuate. Your highness.”

“I find it difficult to believe Patton met you hardly a week ago and has forged such a strong connection with you. I simply want someone to tell me the truth about your continued bond.”

“Our continued-” Virgil turned and crossed his arms, unable to keep from scowling at Prince Roman. He almost forgot for a moment that he was speaking to royalty; right now he was just _tired_ of dealing with this guy’s shit. “Is this about you still not being able to comprehend why Patton wants to spend time with me?”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Prince Roman said, eyes widened innocently as though he truly meant his words. “I just want to understand the full story.”

Virgil could have growled at him. “We’ve already told you the full story,” he said. “We’re not _hiding_ anything.”

“No, no, you see,” Prince Roman said, wagging his finger a bit. He looked almost apologetic. “That’s a lie. I’m very good at knowing when people are lying to me, Virgil.”

Virgil curled his fist around the brush. Beside him, the horse sniffed and tossed its head. “Alright, listen here, Princey-”

“Excuse me?”

“No one is making you come to tea with us. In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t, because then at least you’d stop wandering around asking everyone why they’re _bothering_ to spend time with me.”

“Did you call me Princey?” Bless him, Prince Roman actually looked a bit miffed. His brow drew together when Virgil snorted.

“Yes,” Virgil said. “Are you going to throw me in the dungeons?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Prince Roman said, matching Virgil’s frown. “But you cannot speak to me that way.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!”

“Is it because you’re royalty, and I’m just some servant who you don’t want spending time with your friends?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you spending time with them.”

“That’s what you meant.”

“Don’t put words into my mouth,” Prince Roman snapped, looking genuinely irritated now, and if Virgil had listened to his pounding heart and shaking hands he would have stopped by now.

“I don’t have to, Princey.”

“Okay, lunar bore-clipse-”

Virgil made a face. “What?”

“You make everything darker and you’re boring!” Prince Roman nearly shouted, and Virgil couldn’t help but laugh at how childish the prince looked. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the other man stopped his foot.

“Mature,” he said.

“I’ve tried to be nice to you, but you’re making it incredibly difficult.”

“If that’s you being nice, I’d hate to see you being rude.”

“You cannot speak to me that way!”

“What are you going to do about it?”

They glared each other down. At some point they had inched closer to each other so they were now less than a foot apart, scowling. Prince Roman’s face was flushed, his hair windswept and tussled, and the way he was breathing made it seem as though he had just run several miles.

“Fine,” Prince Roman spit out after a long moment. “Fine, you and Patton are simply _bosom friends,_ there’s nothing at all shady going on, and I am going to overlook the fact that you disrespected me several times. Is there anything else on your mind, Virgil?”

“No.”

“Good. Now then, shouldn’t you be going? Surely you have shoes to shine.”

Virgil drew back, the words hitting him like a slap. He redoubled his efforts to twist his face into something half-feral, trying to look as threatening as possible. “You’re right, your highness,” he said. “Thank you for reminding me, as always.”

He turned away before he could burst into tears, threw the brush angrily into the corner of the stable, and stalked away, leaving the prince standing in the stall behind him.

If Prince Roman was so adamant that Virgil not spend time with his precious friends, then Virgil would grant his holiness what he wanted.

X X X X X

“You did excellent with magical herb identification today, Damian,” Achilas said. He took a long sip from his wine, looking relaxed by the crackling fire. “You’ve learned much from our lessons.”

Damian ducked his head, his own wine still untouched in his hand. “I’ve had a wonderful teacher.”

Virgil rolled his eyes when he was certain that neither could see him. He wasn’t sure why he had been asked to stay; he had finished making Damian’s bed an hour ago, but it seemed that Achilas needed him on hand in case he needed any other petty tasks done. Virgil had already refilled his wine glass twice, and Achilas was beginning to show signs of it.

“No, truly,” Achilas said, eyes shining a little too bright as he grinned at Damian. “The king will be ever so pleased with us.”

Virgil crossed his legs so he was sitting fully on the trunk, propping his chin up with his fist. Damian’s head tilted questioningly as he smiled back at Achilas.

“The king will be pleased with us… why?” he asked.

Achilas leaned back, the wooden chair creaking underneath his weight. He appraised Damian for a moment as though he were a proud, tipsy father. “I suppose I can tell you now,” he said. “I haven’t thus far because I was afraid it would sway your behavior, but it appears that you can hold your own well in foreign court. Especially amongst the princes.”

Achilas laughed loudly at his own joke, lifting his wine glass back up to his lips. Virgil watched an awkward smile contort the edges of Damian’s burn scar.

“Sir?”

“I’ve spoken to you several times about the incredible collection of books that Midylos has,” Achilas said. He waved his hand lazily in the air, sweeping it in front of him. “Ancient volumes on magical theory, extraordinarily rare spellbooks- what we have been shown these past few days is only the very tip of the iceberg. I doubt they’ll ever voluntarily show us the best of their secrets.”

Virgil slowly sat up, keeping his movements still so Achilas didn’t notice him. He wouldn’t be surprised if the other man was too far into his wine to remember that he was still there. Across from Achilas, Damian’s smile was slowly fading.

“I… I don’t understand, sir,” he said.

Achilas leaned closer, teeth glinting white within the curls of his dark beard. “We’re going to take them, dear Damian,” he said, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Snatch out the rarest right out from underneath them, per our king’s orders.”

Virgil raised his hand and pressed it over his mouth to stop himself from shouting out. Surely Achilas wasn’t this foolish, this… suicidal?

“Take them? But- but Midylos will never accept that, that- it would mean war, sir!”

“Not necessarily for Rovirno.”

“How-?”

“I’m not going to divulge the intricacies of our plan, Damian.” Achilas tapped the side of his nose as though he had told a particularly clever joke. “I am, however, in close correspondence with some of the king’s top strategists. When the time comes, we will all have our part to play, and I promise that we and our kingdom will come out blameless.”

The room suddenly felt too hot. Virgil gripped the edges of the trunk he was sitting on, staring at Achilas in horror.

He couldn’t be serious.

“I’m telling you this because I need you to be aware that you will eventually play a key role in our plan,” Achilas said. He drained his wine glass and smacked his lips loudly. “I don’t, of course, have to remind you of the importance of secrecy.”

“Of- of course not, sir,” Damian said. He tilted his head slightly, just enough to meet Virgil’s gaze. He looked as stunned as Virgil felt.

It wasn’t until Damian had said goodnight and left and Virgil was about to follow him out that Achilas addressed him directly for the first time since his announcement.

“Virgil,” he said, catching Virgil’s arm as he reached for the door handle. A shiver of revulsion ran up Virgil’s spine at the touch as Achilas spun him around to face him once more.

“What,” Virgil said through grit teeth, resisting the urge to grimace when Achilas leaned in close and brought with him the heavy smell of wine.

“Damian is bound to me through a loyalty he has willingly developed,” Achilas said, alcohol heavy in his words. Despite the slur to them, his words were as sharp as ever. “I am not naive that yours is a loyalty out of necessity, and you would have very few qualms about spilling secrets I share in confidence. I would like to warn you, therefore, that if you so much as _breathe_ a word of our plan to anyone, I will cut your throat like a pig ready to be slaughtered.” When Achilas leaned forward, his hip brushed Virgil’s, and terror began to creep up Virgil’s throat. “Damian’s, too,” he finished in a whisper. “Do I make myself clear?”

Virgil swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, ashamed when his voice came out shaky.

Achilas squeezed his arm once and then released him. “Good,” he said. “Leave.”

Virgil left, rubbing his arm in an attempt to scratch the memory of Achilas pulling him close off of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways, Thomas dropped the new Sides video today ft our spooky bois so I had to finish this up and get it out as soon as possible. Thank you as always for your wonderful comments and kudos, and thank you for reading. Have a lovely holiday season!


	5. Chapter 5

Logan stared at Roman over the top of his glasses, expression unimpressed. “So you _are_ to blame for Patton’s current mood.”

“Not directly,” Roman said. He tugged at his sash and leaned back in his chair, scowling at Logan’s desk. “Perhaps… perhaps I might have had some effect, though. Indirectly.”

“You scared Virgil off.”

“I did not,” Roman snapped. “He scared himself off.”

“Rephrase.”

“He made me! I tried to have a rational conversation with him and he turned it into a fight. I don’t even know what made him so upset in the first place.”

It was a lie, and from the way Logan raised his eyebrows, he knew it too.

“And you were having a rational conversation with him about how you don’t trust his motives?”

“No.” Roman kicked the corner of the desk, lips twisting in a frown. “Well… perhaps. But have you _seen_ him?”

Logan sighed. He took off his glasses and cleaned them off carefully with the hem of his shirt. “Yes, I have,” he said. “And while I might understand your initial concerns, I was able to glean simply from one afternoon that he is entirely agreeable. I understand why Patton has taken a liking to him.”

“That makes one of us. Sure, he’s- I get that Patton thinks he’s _nice_ , or whatever, but our dear friend has been utterly obsessed with him. Something doesn’t add up.”

“Hm,” Logan said. He put his glasses back on, adjusting them primly on his nose. “Have you considered, Roman, that perhaps this is- how do I put it- none of your business?”

“None of my-? I’m the prince!”

Logan rolled his eyes.

“Patton’s my friend,” Roman said, glaring at him. “I have a right to be concerned.”

“Not if it affects his happiness.” When Roman just glared harder, Logan said, “Virgil has been avoiding him for days, Patton doesn’t understand why, and it’s clearly affecting him negatively. Whatever secrets you sense between them have not been divulged willingly to you, so you must accept that it is not your place to continue digging when it so clearly causes nothing but problems. You must stop acting like a _child,_ Roman.”

“I’m not!” Roman kicked Logan’s desk again, and winced when a sharp pain shot through his toes.

“Stop kicking my furniture.”

“Fine,” Roman said. “Fine! I’ll apologize to him- again- and make him go back to having tea with Patton. Will that make you happy?”

“Firstly,” Logan said, “you cannot _make_ him do anything. Just because you’re the prince doesn’t mean you have the authority to dictate other people’s personal lives. Secondly, it isn’t about what makes me happy. This is about Patton.”

“Oh, isn’t it the same thing? I feel like you and Patton are one and the same with your moods.” Roman rolled his ankle, flexing his toes to try to knock some feeling back into them. They would probably bruise.

“We most certainly are not.” Logan looked affronted. “Patton and I are- we are nothing alike. At all.”

“Whatever,” Roman said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll apologize to the little storm cloud and send him back to Patton’s chambers, and they can carry on with whatever they’ve been doing. If it’s something obscene, I do hope they are being safe.”

Roman jumped when Logan thunked a book loudly on his desk. He frowned in bewilderment, because he hadn’t even noticed that Logan was holding a book to put down. “Logan, what on earth-”

“Stop it, Roman,” Logan said. He pressed his hands flat on his desk and glared at Roman. “Stop- stop insinuating things about people. Especially Patton. It’s immature and disrespectful and- Patton would never, how dare you accuse him of-”

“Whoa, hold on, Specs,” Roman said, sitting up in his seat with slight alarm. “I wasn’t trying to disrespect him. It was just a joke. Besides, haven’t you at least wondered-?”

“No,” Logan said shortly. “I haven’t. And you will stop _wondering_ or you can stop speaking to me altogether about this.”

“Alright,” Roman said. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright. I’m sorry, Logan, I didn’t mean it. Really.”

Logan’s face was even more pinched than it ordinarily was. He stared Roman down for several more moments before he picked up the book he had practically thrown and flipped it open again. When he bent his head over it, it was a clear dismissal, and Roman, afraid of inciting further anger, took that as his cue to leave.

He had to resist kicking a shelf on his way out. Why was _everyone_ upset with him?

X X X X X

Roman wasn’t surprised when Virgil tried to run away from him, but he was annoyed by it, because he had been trying to track the boy down for hours.

When he saw the flash of dark clothing disappearing around the corner, Roman grit his teeth and sped up. He didn’t want to run, because the corridor was crowded with servants and visiting nobles at this time of the afternoon and he feared embarrassing himself, but if he didn’t catch up to Virgil now he knew that he would lose him again.

“Virgil,” he said when he turned the corner. “Virgil- oh, for god’s sake, I see you.”

Virgil straightened up from where he had been ducking behind a servant girl carrying a load of laundry. She scowled at him as she hefted her basket up higher and walked quickly away, leaving Virgil standing in the middle of the corridor looking like a deer about to be struck down.

As Roman approached he saw the moment of hesitation on Virgil’s face when it was clear the boy was thinking about running, and then the realization that it was too late for that.

“What, your highness?” he asked.

There were still people moving around them, most casting curious looks towards the two, bowing their heads reverently as they passed Roman. Roman would have preferred to have this conversation somewhere more private and less conspicuous, but at least this way Virgil wouldn’t be able to run from him.

“I must say,” Roman said, “that you are incredibly difficult to track down. I’ve been looking for you all day.”

“Yes, well,” Virgil said, staring at his feet. “I didn’t know you were looking.”

“Right,” Roman said. He could already feel discomfort settling in. He loathed apologizing to people, and he especially wasn’t keen on apologizing to Virgil for a second time. “I… understand why you might be hesitant to speak to me, but I assure you that I come in peace.”

Virgil had the audacity to snort, and Roman reminded himself that he had to be nice to him for Patton’s sake.

“Our conversation got rather heated last we spoke,” Roman said. “I wanted to… well, I wished to…”

“You can’t do it, can you?”

Roman frowned at Virgil, who was smirking vaguely at him. “Can’t do what?”

“Apologize.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Roman snapped. “Of course I can.”

“Right,” Virgil said. “Look, you don’t have to. I was the one who was out of place. You’re- you’re a prince, and I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I’m simply grateful that you didn’t pursue any punishments.”

Roman felt his words like a punch to his gut. He prided himself on being available to his people, someone to be admired and not feared. No matter the animosity between him and Virgil, Roman felt uncomfortable that the other boy was clearly afraid of the power Roman might wield.

“Have you work to do this afternoon?” he asked abruptly, making up his mind within seconds.

Virgil’s expression changed to a distrustful frown. “Why?”

“I was going to go for a ride,” Roman said. “If you haven’t any work to do, I would be very grateful if you joined me.”

“You want me to come with you?”

Roman rolled his eyes. “That’s what I said. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, and I’m astounded that you’re talking about something other than yourself.” Virgil’s words were scathing, but the moment he said them his eyes widened in fear. Roman raised an eyebrow at him, but was careful to keep his expression neutral.

“I’m going to change into riding clothes,” he said. “If you wish to join me, meet me at the stables in twenty minutes.”

He turned on his heel and strode away, nodding at the servants who stepped aside to let him pass. He didn’t look behind him to see whether or not Virgil remained where he was.

X X X X X

Roman had already saddled his horse and was ready to abandon his attempts to reconcile with Virgil entirely when the stable door creaked open. Roman glanced up from the stirrups to see Virgil standing there dressed in a plain black shirt and dark trousers. He was watching Roman uncertainly, poised as though to run at a moment’s notice.

“You came!” Roman beamed at him in an attempt to look more welcoming.

Virgil nodded shortly and stepped into the stables. He hurried past Roman to a stall that Roman knew housed one of the Rovirno horses. Roman turned back and stroked his horse’s neck while he waited for Virgil to prepare his saddle, running his fingers through the finely brushed mane. He hadn’t ridden in days, and already he could feel anticipatory adrenaline flooding his body.

When Virgil finally led his horse out of the stall, both rider and horse looked unenthusiastic about the excursion. “Where would you like to go, your highness?” he asked. Roman had to admire the way he could shift between respectful manners and the feistier aspects of his personality with so much ease.

“You haven’t been into the forest yet, have you?” When Virgil shook his head, Roman said, “I know an excellent spot to introduce you to it.”

He mounted easily and watched Virgil climb up with skill that Roman hadn’t anticipated. When both were situated, Roman squeezed his legs to spur his horse into a walk and led the way out of the stables.

Virgil immediately fell behind Roman in a manner that discouraged talking. Roman didn’t mind, though; they wouldn’t be taking a long ride and he wanted to enjoy his time out as much as he could, something he doubted he would be able to do while bickering with Virgil. His father had kept him busy with diplomatic lessons these past weeks, limiting Roman’s time outside. His sparring time had been dramatically decreased and the rise and fall of the horse underneath him felt foreign after so long away from it.

The day was bright and clear, and Roman flipped his hair back out of his eyes and turned his face towards the sun as he guided his horse down the path that meandered away from the stables and towards the line of trees marking the start of the Taobhan forest. He could hear Virgil riding along behind him, keeping pace while maintaining the distance between him. Roman only glanced over his shoulder a few times to ensure that Virgil was handling himself well on his horse before returning his focus back to his own horse.

The path took them right up to the edge of the trees and marked a spot where the thick brush that rimmed the woods had been pushed back enough to allow entrance through. Roman ducked his head under a branch as he guided his horse through the gap, entering the cool shade of the forest.

Leaves hung low all around them, the trees so close together they felt like an impenetrable mass surrounding them. Roman led the way along the thin, well worn path that wove back and forth in lazy serpentine twists, feeling the moss and damp leaves on the ground cushioning each step his horse took. Behind him Virgil’s horse followed, and Roman could hear movement each time they had to brush past a particularly large bush or branch.

Finally, the trees began to thin out. Roman pulled lightly on the reigns to tug his horse to the right, taking them slightly off the path to wade through a group of low-lying bushes, and a moment later they stepped into a clearing that was empty of trees entirely.

He rode to the center of the circular clearing and dismounted. He turned to look behind him to find Virgil and his horse stopped at the edge of the trees. Virgil’s face was turned upwards towards the sky, which stretched clear above them, unhindered by trees.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Roman asked.

Virgil lowered his gaze. Roman had seen the other boy nervous, and angry, and polite, but he had never seen his eyes so wide and his expression so open with awe. It did something funny to Roman’s chest, and instead of trying to decipher it he turned and led his horse to the edge of the trees to tether the reins to a branch.

Virgil joined him a moment later. “It’s nice,” he said quietly, tying his horse down beside Roman’s.

“It’s one of my favorite places,” Roman said. “It’s good to be alone once in a while.”

He felt Virgil’s eyes on him as he moved back to the center of the clearing. The ground alternated between damp dirt and soft curls of grass. Roman chose a grassy area and sat down, leaning back on his hands to watch as Virgil slowly approached.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

Roman laughed out of surprise. “Sorry?”

“This is a nice spot, but it’s also conspicuously secluded,” Virgil said. He crossed his arms and frowned down at Roman. “If you’ve brought me here to kill me, at least say it to my face before you do it.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Virgil.”

“Promise?”

“On my honor as a prince.”

Virgil seemed to debate it for a moment longer before he grudgingly sat down across from Roman. He drew his knees up to his chest and hunched his shoulders down over them as though he were trying to take up as little space as possible.

“What now?” he asked.

Roman shrugged. The sun was directly over them in the sky and he could feel the heat soaking through the fabric of his tunic, imbuing him with a kind of peaceful serenity. “I think we ought to talk.”

“You’re not going to try and apologize again, are you?”

“No,” Roman said. “I don’t think I should have to, anyways. You were the one who started it.”

Virgil scowled at him. Set against the beauty of the clearing and the intense paleness of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes looked especially pronounced. Roman wondered how someone could sleep poorly enough for those to develop in such a sickly way.

“Did you really bring me all the way out here to make me say sorry to you?”

“No. I was thinking that we could just call a truce, and neither one of us would have to apologize.”

“What if I wanted an apology?”

“I thought you didn’t?”

“Maybe I changed my mind.”

“You’re being difficult.”

“And you’re being annoying,” Virgil muttered in a way that Roman thought he wasn’t meant to hear.

“I actually think I’m being quite forgiving, as I’m excusing your rude comments once more.”

Roman instantly regretted his words when Virgil’s shoulders curled further in. “Sorry,” he said into his knees.

“No, it’s- I was kidding, Virgil. I truly don’t care what you say to me.”

Virgil’s mouth twisted uncertainly. “You’re a prince.”

“Have you never met a humble prince?”

Virgil snorted. “Never.”

Roman pressed a hand to his chest, feigning shock. “You wound me.”

“You knew what you were getting yourself into when you dragged me out here with you.”

“Yes, I did,” Roman said. He plucked a blade of grass from the ground and spun it between his fingers. “In the interest of our new truce, I think it wise that I express that I have realized the errors in my treatment of you. You were undeserving of my mistrust, and I certainly do not want my behaviors to be reflected onto Patton.”

“So Patton put you up to this?”

“Logan, really,” Roman admitted. And then, hurriedly, “But I mean it!”

“Right.” Virgil tucked his chin onto his knee and watched Roman pull up another blade of grass.

“I just wanted to ensure that you do not think Patton shared my initial criticisms of you.”

“I don’t,” Virgil said. “Patton’s… great. He’s been nothing but kind to me.”

“Then why have you stopped visiting him?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “I got the hint that I wasn’t wanted, your highness.”

“Well, you should take that hint and… throw it into the wind!” Roman tossed the grass blades he had picked into the air. They fell immediately to the ground while Virgil watched with unimpressed raised eyebrows.

“Alright,” he said.

“Patton enjoys spending time with you,” Roman said. “If you enjoy your time with him as well, do not let me stand in the way of it. If it’d make you more comfortable, I will allow you to continue your visits in peace, without my presence.”

“You’re actually offering to stop coming to tea?”

“If that’s what’s necessary, then- yes,” Roman said, feeling rather self righteous about the whole situation. All he wanted was for his dearest friend to be happy, and if that meant sacrificing time with him, then so be it.

“That’s… nice, I guess,” Virgil said, not sounding appropriately grateful for Roman’s announcement. “But I don’t think I’ll be going to tea anymore.”

“What? But why not?”

“Look, I appreciate all of this, but I just think it’s best if I… stay away.”

“Do you not like Patton?”

“No!” Virgil frowned earnestly. “No, Patton is really great.”

“Then you should continue joining him for tea.”

“I can’t. I’m… I’m so busy, Damian has given me so many chores and I’ve fallen behind-”

“That’s an easy fix,” Roman said. “I’ll speak with him immediately. I’m sure I can-”

“No.” Virgil’s voice constricted into something defensive, and Roman resisted the immediate urge to overthink what it meant. He was supposed to be _nice_ to Virgil, and that meant not analyzing each of his idiosyncrasies (he had a lot of those, as Roman was coming to learn). “No, don’t speak with Damian about me. He’ll… you know, you’re right. I can find time in my schedule to visit Patton. I’ll go.”

“Oh, splendid!” Roman clapped his hands together, glad that he had somehow managed to get an interaction with Virgil right. Then he sobered with a small frown. “And am I to understand that you want your space…?”

That made the corners of Virgil’s mouth quirk upwards. It wasn’t a full smile, which was something that Roman didn’t think he was entirely capable of, but it was pleasant nonetheless. “You can come too, Princey.”

“Wonderful.” Roman grinned at him, and the sun shining bright overhead suddenly felt much brighter. “I am truly glad to hear that.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Virgil muttered, ducking his head. Roman strained to catch sight of his expression, but when Virgil finally looked up his face was impassive. “I think I need to go now. I do have work to do.”

Roman leaped to his feet and offered his hand to Virgil, muscle memory taking him through the steps of ending a visit with someone he wished to gain the favor of (for Patton’s sake, of course). Virgil stared at it for a second, then looked up at him, and then hesitantly took the proffered hand. His fingers were cold but soft to the touch, nothing like what Roman would expect a servant’s hands to feel like.

Roman helped pull Virgil to his feet and then immediately released him. He forced a smile as Virgil kept his gaze down on his feet, ignoring the way Virgil’s hair fell across his eyes and cast shadows across his face.

“I’ll lead the way, then,” Roman said.

X X X X X

Roman had just gotten used to the presence of the sorcerers in the castle and all the diplomatic proceedings that came along with that when his father threw another sword in the plans.

“I think we ought to start thinking of the ball,” he said over their private dinner one day. Beside him, Ibykos nodded sagely.

Roman looked at them both in bewilderment. “Ball?”

“For when the visiting sorcerers depart,” Ibykos said. “It’s only polite.”

“They won’t be leaving for another two months!”

“Yes, but there is much to consider,” his father said, spearing a green bean on the end of his fork. “I want to honor the customs of each kingdom that is honoring us with their presence, not to mention the sheer number of guests we will have to accomodate. This will be the event of the century.”

And yes, Roman liked the idea of being the focal point at the event of the century, as he was sure to be, but that small discussion led to an entire day of he and his father sitting in the king’s chambers and compiling a guest list full of every single gentleman and lady that needed to be invited. The names of nobles were still swimming across his eyelids when he closed his eyes as he left in the direction of his own chambers for the evening.

Roman was trying to rub the memories out of his eyes when a voice behind him said, “Prince Roman.”

Roman resisted the urge to groan and plastered a polite smile on his face as he turned to see Damian standing there. He waited while the other man bowed generously, one gloved hand holding his hat securely to his head.

“Damian,” Roman said. “How lovely to see you.”

“And you, your highness,” Damian said. His eyes glinted when he smiled. “Have you been spending time in the sun? Your complexion is even more radiant than usual.”

Despite himself, Roman felt flattered. “Thank you, Damian,” he said. “Is there anything that I can help you with?”

“Nothing important,” Damian said. “It’s only- well, I understand that Midylos has a rather nice market on Friday evenings. I was thinking of going tomorrow, and was wondering if you might wish to join me.”

Roman blinked. “You wish for me to go with you?”

“Well, I want the most experienced tour guide, so I went to my top choice first. If you already have a prior engagement, I understand, of course.”

“I haven’t been to the night market in years,” Roman said thoughtfully, thinking back on it. He had told his father that we would help him finish the guest list tomorrow evening, but if Roman informed him that he was acting as guide to one of their visitors, he would surely be enthusiastic about Roman skipping out on work.

That alone cemented Roman’s decision.

“I would love to join you tomorrow,” Roman said, and Damian immediately sank back into a bow.

“Wonderful,” he said. “I’m looking forward to it, your highness.”

Roman smiled at him. “I am as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a mini break from writing for the holidays, but I'm back and ready to update more frequently again! Thank you to everyone that's left a kudos or a comment- I appreciate all of you for reading! Hope you enjoyed, and hope you had the happiest of New Years!


	6. Chapter 6

Virgil returned to Patton’s chambers the day after the prince spoke to him. He arrived earlier than usual, hoping Patton would still be there, and knocked on the door with his heart in his throat. No matter what the prince had said, Virgil had been the one to go back on his promise to attend Patton’s teas, and Virgil wouldn’t blame Patton at all if he was upset with him. 

When Patton opened the door, Virgil felt a sharp wave of relief when he saw the man’s expression light up at the sight of him.

“Oh, Virgil!” He opened the door wider, gesturing for Virgil to enter. “You’re back!”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, stepping inside. “I was- I was busy, and-”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Patton said. “Tea?”

“Yes, please.” Virgil sank awkwardly into his seat, watching as Patton poured the tea out. He already had everything ready and laid out neatly on the table. “I’m sorry, were you expecting someone?”

“No,” Patton said. “Just hoping that you would come!”

Virgil felt his guilt re-double. Patton passed him a cup of tea, and Virgil accepted it with a small smile.

“I really am sorry,” he said quietly.

“It’s alright,” Patton said. He sat down across from Virgil and poured his own helping of tea. He looked just the same as he always had, if a bit more tired. “I’d only wondered if I’d done something to upset you.”

“No.” Virgil shook his head hurriedly. “No, Patton, nothing like that. I was just…”

“Ah.” Patton stirred sugar into his tea with a rue smile. “Roman frightened you off, then?”

Virgil opened his mouth to protest, but found that he couldn’t, in good conscience, lie to Patton like that.

“Roman is one of my dearest friends,” Patton said. He set the silver spoon down carefully on the table. “But sometimes he’s an absolute idiot. I apologize if he said anything offensive to you.”

“It’s fine.” Virgil was faintly amused at hearing the prince spoken about in that way. He knew there was a reason that he liked Patton. “He already apologized.”

“He did?” Patton looked faintly surprised. “Well, that’s amazing! I’m glad you two are getting along.”

Virgil thought that was perhaps pushing it a  _ bit  _ too far, but Patton looked too excited for Virgil to refute the statement.

“Oh,” Patton said. He set his tea down on the table and stood up. “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“What is it?” Virgil asked, watching with a frown as Patton picked up a small, leather-bound notebook off a side table.

“These are some of my old notes,” Patton said. He flipped through the pages, wandering back over to Virgil. After a moment he stopped and read whatever was written there, a thoughtful look on his face. “It’s all in my handwriting, so I apologize if you can’t read it. But- Virgil, have you ever heard of this spell before?”

He laid the book on the table and pointed at a word written at the top of the page. Virgil squinted, trying to read Patton’s cramped handwriting.

“I’ve seen Damian perform it,” he said slowly.

“But you’ve never done it?”

“Of course not.”

Virgil resisted the urge to read through the rest of the page. Patton’s notes looked incredibly thorough, diving into the etymology of the spell, its various uses, its historical context. Given the opportunity, it would have been something Virgil would enjoy reading.

“Do you think,” Patton started. Virgil looked up at him, slightly concerned about how nervous the man suddenly looked. “Do you think you could try it?”

Virgil set down his tea so abruptly it spilled over the edges, stinging his hand. “Patton-”

“Just once,” Patton said. He hurried away and picked up a long, white feather, which he set down carefully in the middle of the table. “Just- humor me?”

He smiled hopefully. Virgil looked from him to the feather and back again. Patton wanted him to- but why? He’d said he would keep Virgil’s secret. Virgil had half-wished that he’d forgotten entirely about how they had met. Virgil  _ couldn’t  _ perform magic now. 

But still, Patton had been so nice, and Virgil had been so rude recently, and- Virgil could feel his magic like an itch in his fingers, begging for an escape. It had been weeks since Virgil had last performed any magic.

Virgil swallowed and raised his hand. Visualizing Patton’s handwriting, the curves of the spell, he stared hard at the feather. “ _ Sursumia _ ,” he said.

The feather twitched, and then rose steadily into the air like it was being held by the tail by an invisible hand. It hovered a good half a foot above the table and then stopped. 

“Good.” Patton was behind Virgil, watching over his shoulder. “That’s wonderful, Virgil. Keep your concentration on the spell; don’t let the focus of your magic stray. See how long you can keep the feather up.”

Virgil frowned. It wasn’t often that he tried to sustain a spell. Usually, if he was doing anything, he was doing it secretly, quickly. He tried to keep his magic flowing into the spell, and managed it for a solid ten seconds before his hand began shaking too badly. The feather dropped, spiraling back to the wooden tabletop.

Virgil put his hand down and let his shoulders fall, feeling absurdly disappointed in himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t hold it.”

“No, Virgil, that’s alright.” Patton came around the table again, picking up the book and the feather. He had an odd look on his face as he returned it to the table he had taken them from. “That- that was extremely impressive.”

Virgil felt his cheeks warm, just a bit. “Really?”

“Really.” Patton sat back down in his seat and looked at Virgil, eyebrow furrowed. “You’re  _ certain  _ that you’ve never had any training in magic before?”

“I’m certain.” Achilas would have never allowed it.

“Well,” Patton said. He picked his tea back up but didn’t drink from it. “That spell is extremely difficult for beginning sorcerers to grasp. It took me a week to get the feather to move, and much longer than that to be able to sustain it as long as you did.” 

Virgil resisted the urge to duck his head. “I… what does that mean?”

“It means that you have an incredible natural talent at this, Virgil,” Patton said. He set his tea back down on the table. “I know you told me not to ask you about it, but I simply  _ can’t  _ understand why you don’t wish to pursue a career in sorcery. If you demonstrated that spell to any sorcerer, they would be fighting over the chance to take you on as an apprentice.”

Virgil shook his head even as Patton’s words sent a warm kind of hope through his chest. “I can’t,” he said.

“Why not?” When Virgil hesitated, Patton’s expression softened. “You can tell me, Virgil. I promise I’ll keep any secret you wish me to.”

“I’m not allowed to,” Virgil blurted out before he could think. Then he bit on his bottom lip, hard, to avoid swearing at his own mistake.

Patton’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just a servant,” Virgil said after a long moment of silence.

“So was I,” Patton said. “It doesn’t matter what we’re born, Virgil.”

Virgil thought of Prince Roman, and almost laughed. He probably would have been insulted to hear something even close to a slight at his birthright. “I know,” he said. 

“Do you not want to learn magic?”

Virgil swallowed. His fingers still felt warm from the spell. “It’s not that.” 

“Then what is it?”

Virgil turned away, shifting his gaze out the window. He could feel Patton’s gaze on him, pressing in, and he couldn’t explain, couldn’t tell Patton the repercussions he’d face if anyone even knew that he was sitting here  _ thinking  _ about magic like this-

“Oh,” Patton said. “Oh, Virgil, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m fine.” Virgil’s voice came out tight, and he realized that his eyes were burning. He sniffed and reached up to swipe at them, annoyed by his own weakness. 

He felt fingers press gently at his wrist. When he looked up, Patton was holding a pale blue handkerchief out to him with an apologetic smile. Virgil took it, murmuring his thanks.

“I’ll tell you what,” Patton said when Virgil had composed himself. “What if I taught you a few basics? Nothing extreme, because I’m still learning myself, but I can at least show you some introductory spells. That way you’ll have something in your repertoire, even if you never receive formal training. And,” Patton added before Virgil could protest, “we’ll do it here, in secret. I won’t tell a soul.”

Virgil sniffed again, turning the handkerchief over in his hands. “You won’t?”

“You have my word,” Patton said. 

Virgil stared down at his lap, appalled with himself for even listening to Patton’s offer. There was no way he’d be able to get away with learning magic in secret. Achilas had been lenient on him so far throughout this trip, but if Virgil were to so blatantly break his rules, there would be repercussions for sure. And Virgil hadn’t quite been able to forget the plan that Achilas had disclosed several nights ago. As doubtful as Virgil was that he would actually go through with it (Achilas had been rather drunk at the time, and hadn’t spoken a word of it since) he was worried that if Achilas did find out, he’d think Virgil was plotting against him in some way.

And yet. Virgil had been drawn to magic his whole life, yet unable to approach it. Now, he was being offered the chance to learn from someone he liked, perhaps even trusted.

If he could trust Patton enough to keep this a secret, then perhaps…

“Maybe,” Virgil said. “Maybe you could teach me… a few spells?”

Patton jumped a little in his seat, a massive smile blossoming on his face. “I’d love to!” he said. “I don’t know how much I’ll have to teach you, because you seem to be a very quick learner, but oh, there are so many spells I can show you. We’ll start tomorrow, yes? Virgil, thank you for giving this a chance, this is going to be so much fun!”

Despite his fears, Virgil couldn’t help but smile a little bit. Patton’s excitement was certainly infectious.

X X X X X

Virgil had heard the servants gossiping about the night market for days. It seemed to be some great social event for kingdom, but Virgil was just hoping to find a nice gift for Patton.

The streets in the lower city had been roped off and crowded with stalls and wares, filled to the brim with people when Virgil arrived. Paper lanterns were strung up above the street, casting a pale light over the proceedings. There was a pleasant hum of voices and scents of baked goods and roasting meat in the air. If Virgil didn’t detest crowds so much, it might have even been enjoyable.

He kept his head ducked down low as he walked, winding his way through the streets. He had brought most of his savings with him to Midylos, and he thought that he had just enough to find something to thank Patton for all he’d done for Virgil. Even if he hadn’t offered to teach Virgil magic this morning, Virgil still would have needed something tangible to thank him for his friendship.

And wasn’t that an odd thought, Virgil thought as he turned down another street. Virgil had never had a friend before. The closest he’d ever had to that was Damian, which was kind of sad, if he thought about it too hard.

Virgil shook his head to knock thoughts of friendship out of his mind and instead focused on trying to find something reasonably priced that Patton would enjoy. There were all kinds of sweets, which Patton would probably like, but he also had full access to the kingdom’s kitchens, so cakes and cookies weren’t in short supply for him. Anything magic-related was already out; there wasn’t very much of that available at the market anyways, but Virgil did spot a booth selling potions ingredients, which he hurried away from. 

A trinket, then. Most of the booths were selling small handmade pieces of art or more practical houseware items. Virgil found himself drawn to a table lined with hand-carved statues of animals, run by an old woman who nodded at him when he approached to look at her work.

Virgil picked up a small statue of a cat in the far back row, examining it closely. It was no larger than his thumb, but the detail was astounding. It even had a tail that curved up, languid and smooth. Virgil thought that Patton would quite like that.

“Virgil!” said a voice very close to Virgil’s ear, and Virgil jumped, nearly losing his grip on the statue.

He spun around to see a familiar face beaming at him from beneath a rich red hood. Virgil swallowed, trying to calm his pounding heart.

“Your highness,” he said.

Prince Roman hurriedly shook his head and pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh,” he said. “I’m here incognito. Do you like my disguise?” He held his arms out for Virgil to examine. It was a long red robe stitched with gold- exactly the sort that royalty would wear.

Virgil scowled at him. “You startled me.”

“My apologies.” Prince Roman didn’t sound very sorry. “What are you doing here?” 

“Just looking,” Virgil said. 

“Hm. What’s that?” Before Virgil could react, Prince Roman reached out and plucked the statue from his fingers, holding it close to his face to peer at it.

Virgil crossed his arms, trying very hard not to glare at the crown prince. “A cat.”

Prince Roman tilted his head to the side, twisting the statue to look at it closer. “It’s very nice,” he said. “It doesn’t seem to be quite your style, though.”

“That’s because it’s for Patton.” Virgil reached out and took the cat back from the prince, holding it protectively to his chest.

“Really?” The prince looked surprised. “That’s very nice.”

“Didn’t think I was capable of that, huh?”

“Ugh.” Prince Roman rolled his eyes. Virgil had the absurd urge to smack him. “Don’t start this again, please. I’m trying very hard to be nice to you.”

“Your highness,” said a familiar voice from the crowd, and Virgil’s stomach dropped. “There you are! I just saw a booth with the most delightful pies, and-” Damian broke off when he caught Virgil’s gaze. He stopped abruptly a few feet from the booth. 

“Ah, Damian,” Prince Roman said. His voice was jovial, and entirely unaware of the sudden tension. “Terribly sorry for slipping away like that, but I spotted Virgil here and simply had to come say hello.”

“You… know Virgil?” Damian looked at Virgil, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Virgil stared back, still gripping the wooden statue, breath caught in his throat.

“I’ve had the pleasure of making his acquaintance a few times,” Prince Roman said. “Aren’t these little animals adorable?”

“They’re very cute,” Damian said. His eyes was still fixed on Virgil. Virgil was normally quite good at reading Damian’s expressions, but he couldn’t quite place the mix of emotions on the other man’s face now. “We should probably continue moving if we wish to see the entirety of the market before it closes.”

Prince Roman nodded. “You’re quite right,” he said. He turned back to Virgil with a smile. “Well, Virgil, it was nice to see you again.”

“You as well, sire,” Virgil murmured, trying very hard not to focus on Damian’s glare behind the prince.

Virgil jumped when Prince Roman reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Virgil,” he said. His hand was very warm. “Patton will enjoy that gift immensely. You know him well.”

Virgil swallowed. Prince Roman was looking at him closely with an odd expression. He looked almost- thoughtful, as his gaze ran over Virgil’s face, taking in each of his features. It was a heavy look from such an important man, and Virgil felt suddenly small.

After a moment, Prince Roman gave his shoulder a final squeeze and then pulled away. “Come, Damian,” he said, “I want to go see the blacksmith’s table!”

Prince Roman strode away, red robe flapping behind him. Damian lingered for a moment longer, staring at Virgil, but before Virgil could say anything he turned to follow the prince. 

Virgil watched them go. Then he looked down at the cat statue he was holding tight in his hands. It was warm, slick with sweat from his own palms. His fingers were shaking.

“How much?” he asked the woman sitting behind the booth.

“Two gold.”

“Here.” Virgil dug the money out of his pocket and handed it to her. She accepted it with a nod.

Virgil slipped the statue into his pocket and turned to go, ducking his head low as he stepped back into the crowd.

This is exactly why he didn’t go outside.

X X X X X

Virgil was waiting in Damian’s chambers when he returned from the night market. He had come immediately after he’d returned, and sat perched on Damian’s trunk, staring at the fire flickering in the hearth in silence. 

He looked up when the door opened and Damian entered. “Damian,” he said.

“Haven’t you something else to do other than lie in wait for me?” Damian closed the door behind him. He didn’t look at Virgil as he crossed the room, stripping his gloves off and tossing them at the bed. 

“I wanted to speak with you.”

“About what?” Damian unbuttoned his cape at the neck. “About how you have apparently been befriending the prince behind my back?”

“It wasn’t behind your back,” Virgil said. “And- and I hardly know him.”

“That’s not what it looked like to me.” Damian dropped his cape on the bed next to his gloves and moved over to the fireplace. He picked up an iron poker and jabbed at the logs. They shifted in a burst of sparks. 

Virgil stood, slipping off the trunk and walking to stand just at the edge of the flame’s heat. “Are you going to tell Achilas?”

“Tell him what? It’s none of  _ my  _ business who you spend your time with. Why should I bother Achilas with it?”

Virgil bit back his relief. He watched as Damian prodded at the fire, iron disappearing into the heart of the flames. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.” Virgil could see the edges of Damian’s scar illuminated in the orange-yellow light of the fire. He traced it with his gaze, the puckered corners of it, and felt familiar guilt rising like bile in his stomach. “He’s far too busy to worry about you, anyways.”

Virgil clasped his hands in front of him. “About that. Has he said anything else to you about… about that plan?”

“What plan?” Damian slid the poker neatly back into its place beside the hearth. “Those drunken mumblings about stealing the royal library’s books?”

“Yes.”

“Of course not.” Damian stood and walked to one of the high-backed chairs, collapsing into it. He rested his chin on his fist, staring at the fire in a very brooding manner. “He’d had far too much wine that night, Virgil. Don’t worry about it.”

“Why would he even say something like that?”

“If he’d been truly serious about it, he would have included me in the plan earlier,” Damian said. He glanced at Virgil out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve been worrying about it, haven’t you?”

“It would be political suicide,” Virgil snapped at him.

“What do you know about political anything?” 

“Enough.”

“Virgil, you’re far too paranoid. Achilas isn’t going to do anything, and if he does, he’ll take care of it. It hardly concerns  _ you _ .” 

Virgil glared at the fire. Damian sighed loudly.

“Virgil,” he said. “You’ll drive yourself crazy with worry if you keep this up. You’re fixating; I can tell, I know you too well.”

“I’m not fixating.”

“We are guests at one of the most beautiful kingdoms in the world.” Damian spread his hands wide, gesturing to the room around him. “For once in your life, Virgil, it would serve you well to lighten up a smidge.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“You’re lucky Achilas even let you come,” Damian said, sounding cross now. “There’s no reason to sound so ungrateful about it.”

Virgil gripped the back of the other chair, nails digging into the soft fabric. “Would you have preferred I stayed behind?”

“Of course not,” Damian said. “I always enjoy your company, Virgil.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I’m tired. We can continue this discussion tomorrow, if you wish.”

Virgil wanted to stay and argue. He wanted to yell at Damian, to make him understand that Virgil was only here for  _ him _ , that he’d only come to  _ protect  _ Damian, to watch over him. 

But Virgil knew better than that. Whenever he fought with Damian, he never won. So he took a step back and said, “Fine.”

“Oh, Virgil?” Damian said as Virgil headed towards the door. He tipped his head lazily to look at Virgil, eyes glinting in the firelight. “Do stay away from the prince, won’t you? That’s something of a pet project of mine, and I wouldn’t want you getting in the way.” 

Virgil curled his fingers around the doorknob. “As you wish, Damian,” he said.

Then he opened the door and strode into the hallway, getting some satisfaction out of slamming it shut behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile since I updated this, but I wanted to try and finish it. Hope you enjoyed!


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